


Dorothea, Delightfully Delicious Derriere-Dining Diva

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Play, F/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: When it comes to butt stuff, Dorothea is the queen.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Instruction Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a short for a bud that got way, way out of hand. Enjoy! 
> 
> Pre-timeskip, all characters are over 18, etc.
> 
> You can follow my FE3H journey on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke).

Dorothea smacked her lips and sighed happily, a string of saliva bridging her mouth to the tight, firm bud of the asshole she’d just finished pleasuring. There really wasn’t any feeling that could equal it. She’d played a number of loquacious characters in her time onstage, and still the words seemed to fail her when she tried to describe why doing this worked so _well_ for her.

The rear hole in front of her was still quivering, tensing and puckering as the lucky recipient rolled through the aftershocks of their rimming-induced orgasm. Their balls, so recently pressed against her chin, throbbed as their cock twitched and the last spurts of their load splattered out onto the floor. Dorothea giggled and stepped away, releasing her partner’s asscheeks with one more approving, grateful pat. It always paid to let them know that she’d be back. Having known hunger once, she’d miss as few meals as possible now that a veritable buffet was offered to her every day. 

“Thank you, Felix.” She giggled girlishly and began to rise, the flush in her cheeks and the sweat dotting her brow the only indications on her person that she’d just buried her face in a man’s backside. “You’re so punctual about this! Why, I’d almost think that you’re doing this for _your_ sake, and not just mine…”

“Shut up.” Muttered Felix, not meeting her eyes. He was still shaking and wobbling on unsteady legs, holding himself upright with his hands on a desk. “We're done, so get going. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Felix, that’s very rude.” Dorothea chided. “But yes, as it so happens I have another arrangement. See you around!” 

She walked off, chuckling, as Felix struggled to pull his pants up and find something to clean up his mess. 

* * *

Dorothea hadn’t been lying. She _did_ have a prior arrangement. It was just that one party hadn’t known that they were going to be participating in it.

A little wink, and her tongue dragging along her lips, was all she’d needed to remind her Professor that she was going to be peckish. Perhaps it had been unfair to pull that on him in the middle of a lecture—he spent the rest of the talk fidgeting behind his desk, trying hard not to look in her direction—but he was even more diligent than Felix when it came to heeding her call. She nearly had her teacher wrapped around her finger. At the very least, she had his asshole wrapped around her tongue.

Felix demanded dexterity and grace when Dorothea rimmed him, and so she leaned on precise, careful twirls of her tongue and drags of her lips, cupping his butt to hold herself steady. With Byleth, though...she could do _anything_. She could ravenously gobble up his back hole with frenzy and vigor, or she could delicately drag out her pleasuring of him to leave him on the precipice of cumming for ages. She could ignore his cock and balls and focus all her attention on that precious, tender bud, or stroke and smooch his dick and nuts with equal attention while she sniffed in all the sweat of his backside. She could dig deep with her tongue and fingers to wrench Byleth’s climax out of him from the inside, or focus on the sensitive nerves right on the rim. He never judged Dorothea’s oscillating preferences, and always gave her a good show, and provided her with a lovely, filling feast.

What made today special, as Dorothea bent Byleth over the desk in his quarters, was the presence of someone else. Someone she’d asked to meet her here, right now, who had stared in shock when the Professor had pulled down his pants and gotten into position.

Someone who now was watching with rapt attention as Dorothea outlined her approach. 

“Now, Petra, when you’re doing this with a man, it'll take a bit of time to figure out what he likes. Is he the sensitive type who’ll buckle at the slightest touch, or does he need more stimulation? Does he like raw passion, or delicate affection?” Dorothea spoke casually, as if her hands weren’t spreading Byleth’s cheeks to reveal his tight asshole, hanging balls, and swaying dick. 

Petra blinked, then realized that Dorothea was expecting an answer. “I have understanding, though I am not expecting...this is unexpected.” The Brigid princess bit her lip and fiddled with her braid, cheeks starting to redden, eyes darting towards Byleth's exposed butt, then dancing away to look at Dorothea before roaming back, twinkling with curiosity.“...And what is the Professor liking?”

“Oh, he’s just a treasure. He likes _everything_. Now, most men won’t be like this...but I think the Professor is the perfect one to model for you. Now, watch closely. When I’m done, it’ll be your turn, but I’ll help you, okay?”

“You are having plans for me to be going next?” Petra flushed an even deeper scarlet, but she didn’t wasn't averting her eyes anymore. 

“Of course! You won’t learn if you don’t try, and this is a _very_ important skill to know, Petra. Now, Professor, let’s get started.”

Dorothea was hankering to devour Byleth, to render him into a strained mess, and reduce him to barely holding back his sobs of delight as she messily and earnestly worked him. That might come, eventually, but for now she resisted the impulse. She figured that Petra would appreciate a slower lesson.

She leaned forward, extending her tongue, dragging it from the top of his asscheeks down across the bud of his rear, circling gently, and then proceeding further, stopping just short of the scrunched-up skin of his ballsack. Dorothea sighed and pressed her nose forward into his back hole, nuzzling sweetly and inhaling deeply, taking in the intoxicating, musky mix of sweat and salt that she adored. Every ass was different; smelled different, tasted different, and had to be eaten differently. But they usually had some signature characteristics, some distinguishing factors that set them all apart in her mind, as equally distinct meals to be savored. Byleth's asshole followed that pattern. Its signature signs were hard to pin down, but something about it tasted...coppery, and saline. A bit like blood, but lovely all the same. Hm. Strange. If she closed her eyes, she could just drift away in the scents, face cradled between his buttcheeks, and...

Wait, no, she was supposed to be teaching Petra. Oops. Dorothea couldn’t see her friend, what with her face being buried in Byleth’s butt, yet the thought of giving a less-than-stellar demonstration was enough to center her back to focus on her task. Holding her hands on Byleth's asscheeks, keeping him spread while he clenched his fists and waited, Dorothea trailed kisses higher from just above his ballsack to his back entrance, and then planted one hard smooch right in a perfect circle around the twinging bud. Byleth grunted, and a drop of precum dripped from his cockhead while Dorothea leaned back slightly to give Petra a chance to see what she'd done. Pity she wasn't wearing her lipstick today: she never got tired of seeing a colored imprint of her mouth on the asshole of her meal, and she had little doubt that Petra would have found it endlessly endearing.

“He is finding that enjoyable!” Petra commented with a little giggle. “I am thinking that men are finding it pleasuring...er, pleasurable to be getting the kisses there?”

Dorothea nodded and smiled, then inched back forward, her hat tilting on her head. Petra took the initiative to straighten it. Clever girl. Dorothea couldn’t stop to commend her friend's foresight, but Petra was showing potential already. 

Nestling her chin atop his tight, cozy nutsack, Dorothea dipped her tongue forward and swiveled it, circling Byleth’s asshole and then prodding the opening. He clenched up, then sighed and relaxed, and she was able to slip in, curling and twirling her tongue inside him, feeling him tense and twitch around her. It probably wasn’t the best way to go about things for instructive purposes, given that Petra couldn’t see what Dorothea was doing with her tongue within Byleth, but the former diva was getting a little carried away. It was so hard to resist indulging...surely she could let go a little, right? Petra had gotten a good enough visual lesson, probably.

She hummed, the vibrations radiating from her tongue along his insides, and buzzing along her lips against his asshole. Byleth panted and gritted his teeth, suddenly pressed to his limits, and Petra ooh’d and aah’d accordingly.

“Ah, the voice! I was not thinking of using the...of using your voice! You are having much cleverness, Dorothea!”

Dorothea smiled, and from the top of her throat, released a low, thrumming note of song. It was muffled by Byleth's ass in her face, but it was enough to send forth a much stronger wave of vibration as she palmed his buttcheeks, stroking and squeezing gently, squishing his rear around her face and spreading it in alternation, steadying herself for the big finish.

Byleth didn’t disappoint. He never did. With a warning hiss, his cock throbbed, his balls pulsed against her chin, and he erupted, spewing his load onto the carpet below his desk. That’d be awful to clean up, but Dorothea doubted he’d mind. He just kept cumming, kept spurting his cream onto the ground, nuts twitching furiously while she maintained her stifled singing. She couldn’t exercise her full vocal range, but she imagined most other opera singers hadn't tried to belt out notes into another person’s backside.

When he was done spewing his load all over the floor, Dorothea secured the victory with a kiss on his asshole as she stepped away, licking her lips and squeezing his rear appreciatively. One of her calling cards: that little squish and pat of the asscheek was a promise that she'd be having more fun with him. Byleth didn't need the confirmation—he was her most frequent and attentive partner, after all—but she couldn't help herself. It just _felt_ good to reassure him that she'd always be there for him whenever he wanted to get his ass eaten, so long as he was there for her whenever she got the urge to worship his butt. It was just her way of doing things, and it was how she operated with _all_ of her partners...or, perhaps more accurately, her meals. It was the least she owed him, and the least she owed all of them, for giving her such fine food, and for satisfying her ravenous appetite for devouring rears.

“So, Petra.” Dorothea said, moving casually from using her lips to please her Professor’s backside to actually speaking words. “I know that maybe that wasn’t as much demonstration as you were hoping to see, but hopefully it’s a start?”

“I am having some understanding.” Petra nodded. Her eyes were flicking between Dorothea’s drool-lined lips and Byleth’s still-quivering asshole, a thin string of saliva still connecting the songstress's plush mouth to his butt. “Is the Professor having the strength to be going again? I am not wanting to be tiring him out.”

“Oh, I usually have to eat his ass at least twice before he’s spent. Don’t worry, Petra, he’s all yours.” Dorothea chuckled and stepped to the side, gesturing to Byleth, who gave the younger student a weary thumbs-up, then moved his hands down to spread his own cheeks wide for Petra to make use of. Petra hesitated, and then moved, unsteadily bending forward and extending her tongue gingerly. She cringed when her tongue made contact with Byleth’s asshole, nostrils scrunching up in a reflexively move to start retreating, but she didn’t pull away. Good. She was off to a great start.

Dorothea patted her on the shoulder encouragingly. Her other hand went to Petra’s head, pushing her gently forward, the Brigid princess withdrawing her tongue until she could give Byleth’s back entrance a clumsy kiss. It was a delicate peck, the kind normally reserved for social greeting, and Dorothea giggled as she recognized how they were being employed between a very different set of cheeks.

“Now, Petra, try to move your kisses and licks down and up a bit. When you move down, make sure you get a nice, deep sniff, right where it matters. If you’re going to be learning to eat ass from me, you’re going to have to get used to a bit of salt and sweat, but don’t worry. The Professor’s the perfect introduction in _all_ respects.” Dorothea smiled as she guided Petra down, the other student’s eyes watering and her nose twitching as she followed the songstress’s directions. Clearly, she wasn't used to this sort of exposure. It would take some adjustment, but Dorothea had faith. “Smells good, doesn’t he? It’ll only get better from here. And doing that _every_ time is a good way to show him how much you care. Tickles him, too!”

Petra nodded tensely, blinking away the tears that dotted the corners of her eyes as she tried to move. She was tentatively kissing his asshole again, pressing her mouth against the opening and sucking slightly, then dragging her lips down to awkwardly pepper his taint with more smooches. Dorothea's fingers rested on Petra's hair gently, keeping her presence there and steady without pushing her friend to fast. Byleth quivered and tensed, and his asshole twitched in time with his little shudders, as Petra kept kissing his rear, the point of her chin pressing against his balls as she tried to make out with his back end. 

"That's it...that's it, Petra." Dorothea cooed approvingly as Petra let her tongue slip out again to drag along Byleth's butthole in a shaky circle, slurping indelicately with stiff motions. "This needs to be a full-body, five-senses experience." 

"You need to _see_ him, all around you, and notice every little quiver and hitch as you keep at it. Even the tiniest little shudder tells you a _lot_ about how to do this." Petra was still blinking the wetness away from her vision, but Dorothea could see her trying to find a spot of sensitivity to focus her gaze on. She'd learn soon enough that you couldn't focus on any one spot: you had to take in the whole picture.

"You need to _hear_ him, and listen to each pant and moan and grunt, whatever he says, wittingly or no. Most of the time, it won't be much that's important...but you'd be surprised at how much men can confess to, and what they'll promise, when they've got a pretty lady worshiping their butt." Dorothea giggled, watching as Petra tried to tilted her head to the side, pressing her ear up against one of Byleth's asscheeks. Not quite what Dorothea had in mind, but still...

"You need to _feel_ him, and I don't just mean with your hands...though that can help. But I'm talking about the energy, and the heat. Can you feel his heartbeat? Or at least, how warm he is, how tense and eager?" Petra seemed to try to take this in earnest, and instead of reaching a hand up, merely nudged her face forward so her cheek was pushing towards the same asscheek that she was 'listening' to. 

"You need to _taste_ him. It doesn't have to be ravenous, and little nips can be fun and useful. Find the sweetness that's there, and sample what you can. The time to feast...that comes at the end. For now, try sticking your tongue up his ass again." Dorothea tapped Petra on the back of the neck, stroking the skin with approval as Petra steeled herself, and then nudged her tongue forward, pressing it into the crook of Byleth's butthole and venturing just the smallest bit inside. Like before, she stiffened, but with a bit less sharpness, and she did not scrunch her eyes up or withdraw. Good.

"And...you need to _smell_ him. I already told you that sniffing is a big, big part of the process. It makes him feel treasured, yes, but it's also one of the loveliest joys to embed into your mind. Do it well, and you'll find a dearer perfume than any cosmetic could replace." Petra let her tongue drag down, trailing from Byleth's asshole to just below, and promptly dug her nose into his asshole, pressing intently forward. Her whole body stiffened, her eyelids fluttered, and Dorothea recognized what was going on a half-second before it happened.

Petra didn't have Dorothea's willpower or endurance just yet, and she'd gone too fast. She'd immersed herself too wholly in the cocktail of musk and sweat that came with digging her nostrils into Byleth's butt, and she was about to either lose her mind from the high of it, overwhelmed by the experience of breathing in too much of him, or her confidence would fade and she'd try to tap out. 

Sure enough, the latter came to pass. Petra raised her hands, as if to push herself away from Byleth, and that kicked Dorothea into action. She couldn't allow that, not when her friend was doing so well, so soon. Nor did she want to impede Byleth's orgasm, and judging by how the man was gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into his desk, that was coming sooner rather than later. 

Of course, more selfishly, Dorothea didn't want to let a bad experience ruin her hopes of inducting Petra into the wonders, nuances, and intimacies of eating ass. So she spoke up, and acted accordingly.

"Petra, don't be like that. I know it's your first time, but you're going to need to stick with this if we're going to make progress. Let's try that again." She cooed, as she pushed down on the back of Petra's head a little bit harder, tangling her fingers into the other woman's braid to push her nose right back from where it had tried to retreat from. Petra tensed, then nodded confidently, though her expression could not be read, what with her face being between Byleth's buttcheeks. 

Dorothea could hear Petra's heavy breathing as she was shoved back into all that was Byleth, the messy slurping of her tongue along his taint, between his asshole proper and nutsack, which presently was cradling the Brigid princess's chin. Dorothea's grip was smooth, but firm, though if she had wanted, Petra could have slipped free easily enough. Dorothea knew she wouldn't: the younger woman always pushed herself so much, always "trained with hardness," and being challenged like this ensured she would rise to the occasion. 

And it paid dividends. Byleth squirmed and writhed, cock throbbing, completely untouched, as Petra brought him to another ass-driven orgasm, so soon after the last. His balls twitched against her jaw as he pumped his load out onto the very same spot that he had before, the drying cumshot that he'd fired thanks to Dorothea now being mixed with the spunk he was spilling out as part of his second eruption. Petra hummed and gripped Byleth's legs, holding herself steady even more strongly than Dorothea was restraining her. The songstress was sincerely and truly impressed by Petra's devotion, amateurish as it was, as she shoved her nose into his asshole and lavished messy kisses and licks on his taint.

"Well done, Petra. Oh, _very_ well done!" Dorothea crooned as she relaxed her hold when Byleth finally stopped cumming. "You did such a great job! How do you feel?" 

Petra's face was sticky, cheeks raw and red, and the top of her hair was tousled. A messy string of drool connected her lips to Byleth's asshole, bridged down from the tip of her nostrils when she'd stuffed her nose into his butt with Dorothea's assistance. Her eyes were tired and still dotted with exertion-induced tears, but her gaze was happy, and the unsteadiness in her voice did nothing to detract from her earnestness.

"I would be...I was liking that greatly! I...am thinking that I will be doing the training of this with much hardness! I am having gratitude, Dorothea." A bright smile curled in the corners of Petra mouth, and Dorothea felt a spark of pride in her. Petra was already well on the path to ass-eating-extravagance! Oh, she was such a good student! Soon she'd be able to go so much farther, and so quickly, too! It wouldn't be long before Petra would be huffing and feasting on butts with unrepentant glee and genuine skill. Dorothea could hardly wait to see her progress, and had no doubt that Byleth would find every step of the way a lovely experience indeed. The lucky fellow looked exhausted, but more than that, he looked stupefied at what Petra had been able to pull off, and at what Dorothea had had the boldness to see through. 

Dorothea allowed herself an expectant chuckle. This was very, very promising indeed.


	2. Early Aspirations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An earlier look at Dorothea's first anal indulgences at Garreg Mach, when she first rimmed Byleth and Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prequel for the chapter before it, but because I can't reorder chapters on Hentai Foundry under the same name, the other site I post my stories to, I'm just going to post it as a second chapter on both. I have a third chapter planned that will go back to chronological order, being set after the first chapter in this story.
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke).

Dorothea had gone through much to get to Garreg Mach monastery, but it had all been worth it. Security and sustenance, plus some of the best education she could find in Fódlan. And, of course, her true goal: A bounty of suitable bachelors and bachelorettes, who might give her what she wanted after a life and childhood of uncompromising toil and misery. 

Still, Dorothea wasn’t going to neglect her duties as a student. She didn’t want to waste the energy she’d put into getting into the academy just to get drummed out due to poor grades, and so she sank her time into reading, lectures, training and learning with all her classmates. For the most part, things went well enough, even considering the bickering within her House and the ostensible rivalry with the other two. 

She didn’t have much of a choice when it came to which House she would be applying for, but it still befuddled Dorothea just how dysfunctional the Black Eagles seemed. Maybe all the other Houses felt the same about their own members. Dorothea certainly heard enough stories about the Golden Deer to get a sense of the disjointed dynamics under the surface, particularly with the higher percentage of commoners like herself in their numbers and the comparatively lackadaisical attitude to leadership. The Blue Lions seemed more straight-laced, but that _had_ to come with its own stifling frustrations and tensions. So, all in all, Dorothea couldn’t complain.

Especially not when she had, in her most humble opinion, the _best_ Professor. Perhaps that wasn’t fair to Hanneman or Manuela, but there was something about Professor Byleth that was...intriguing. Appealing, even. His mystery, perhaps? His strangely taciturn nature that didn’t cross over into brusque, sharp unfamiliarity? His genuine handsomeness? His patience and attention? The fact that he was barely three years older than her, maybe, though it was hard to tell?

Dorothea wasn’t sure. Even though he was...cold, to put it lightly, and seemed to be immune to her charms and found difficulty reacting to most anything, he was a good man. Not wealthy, but strong and capable. The sort of man she’d like to marry, if she didn’t marry into money or lineage. Still, she seemed to be warming the frosty exterior just a tad. Why else would he invite her to tea? More surprising was just how _charming_ he had been, keeping her laughing, smiling, and engaged the whole way through. It had been a lovely time, albeit all too brief, and it had convinced her that she needed to sate her curiosity about him...and whether he might prove an able outlet for the fascinations that lurked on the edge of her consciousness.

She wanted to play the longer game, prod at him over time, but the brazenness of his invitation and behavior convinced Dorothea that he was at least interested, and now was the time to capitalize on that. In her own playful way, of course: She didn’t want to scare him off with miscalculated directness, though she doubted much of anything could scare him.

“That was a lovely cup of tea. Thank you, Professor.” Dorothea purred, crossing her legs over each other and resting her hand on her knee. “I have to say, though, that I never would have expected a man like you to enjoy something like this. Unless you’re not the kind of man I think you to be?”

Byleth said nothing, but the corners of his mouth tightened and a flicker of worry danced in his eyes. Not quite a blush, but it was the most explicit reaction Dorothea had yet gotten out of him in the whole time she’d known him.

“Oh, come on, I’m just teasing, Professor.” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, tilting her down slightly, to suggest a girlish shyness. “I’m not calling your manhood into question, but you’ve never struck me as the sort of person to like having a simple cup of tea with a pretty girl. That _is_ what you’re doing, you realize?”

Byleth still said nothing. He had a way with his bearing, his posture and expression and gestures, that could communicate volumes without him making a sound. Dorothea wished more men were like that, less prone to talking just to flatter themselves or fill the space, and with Byleth it was a welcome departure from the norm. Still, the subtle cues told her a great deal. His eyes widened slightly, his chin tensed in a way that told her he was clenching his jaw, and his posture straightened. 

He was embarrassed! How adorable! That led Dorothea to believe that her earlier suspicion, that he didn’t know much about romance, was correct, but where she’d failed to provoke a reaction before, here, she’d received a comparative performance of emotion. It also gave her an opening to push the envelope just a tad.

“It’s your prerogative, Professor, and I’m very happy that you invited me. I have to wonder if you have any...other motives, though.” Dorothea smiled slightly in makeshift innocence. “After all, even though we were just teasing, when you and I first had a chance to chat about my hopes and dreams, you offered to spend your life with me!”

Dorothea could almost see the memories nudging back into Byleth’s brain, and he finally averted her eyes. But she wasn’t done reeling him in, now that she’d caught the pattern. 

“Who could blame a girl for getting an idea or two when she’s invited to a private tea party...in that man’s room?” Dorothea said in mock horror. Byleth still wasn’t speaking, but she could see the suspicion start to well up in the hints of a frown at the corner of his eyes and lips. She had to move fast.

“...But you well know, Professor, that I don’t find that a problem.” Dorothea cooed, brushing some hair behind her ear, letting her forearm bump against her chest. “In fact, I’m quite flattered, really. _More_ than flattered. Privileged, even for such a handsome, capable man, my own dear Professor, to have taken some interest? I’m honored.”

Byleth’s oncoming frown faded, and he paused. Now was her chance.

“In fact...I’m _so_ honored that I’d like to show you something. Something that precious few other people know about.” She held up her hand to stave off his question. “No, I want to keep it a surprise, but it’s fun, and safe, probably not too far off from what you think I’m talking about, and only a _little_ unusual. I think—no, I _know_ —that you’ll adore it.”

Dorothea fluttered her eyelashes at Byleth, blew him a tiny kiss, and twirled a ringlet of hair in her fingers. “Interested? I promise it’ll be worth it~.”

Byleth lingered on her words for a moment, and then another. Dorothea was on the brink of losing her confidence and wondering if she’d miscalculated when he let out a little sigh, smiled gently, and nodded. It took all her self-control to limit her joy to a shudder of anticipation, and a naughtier smile.

“Well, that’s delightful! Then I suppose I’ll get us started. No, stay seated, Professor.” Dorothea said as she slid her chair back and stood, Byleth rising with her. “All I need you to do is loosen your belt, and take off your boots. Can you do that for me, please?”

He quirked an eyebrow, then sat back down and scooted the chair slightly away from the table he’d set up in his room for the occasion. He reached down, past where she could see, and a _click_ followed as the buckle was loosened. Dorothea sank to her hands and knees, disappearing below the table, then made her way forward, until she was through the other side. Byleth sat in his chair in front of her, looking down at Dorothea as she knelt before him.

“Now, Professor, just leave the rest to me.” Dorothea giggled as she reached forward, pushing his thighs slightly apart and pulling gently on his clothing. She dragged his pants down his legs, then over his feet, tossing them aside as Byleth was left in just his undergarment...and that, in turn, she pulled free. Just not with her fingers.

Instead, Dorothea dipped her head forward, gave Byleth a little wink, and gently bit at the waistline of his undershorts. Her teeth and lips pressed ever-so-briefly against the skin of his crotch, on his blue, smooth pubic hair. Grinning around the fabric in her teeth, Dorothea lifted Byleth’s hips with her hands on the underside of his thighs and then leaned back, dragging his underclothing with her. The head of his cock nudged against the hem, and then pulled free, flopping out and upwards, tall and half-stiff and bobbing hypnotically.  
  
It was beautiful. Dorothea bit down harder on the material, keeping her focus on stripping Byleth’s lower half with her teeth, unable to decide if she wanted to meet his gaze with a hungry smirk of her own, or stare cross-eyed at his enthralling dick as it rested on the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t easy—not with his prick right there, now slightly further away, his cockhead still brushing against her bangs—but she managed, and pulled Byleth’s undergarments down far enough that she could slip a hand forward and tug them away over his heels.

 _Now_ Dorothea could see Byleth, all of him, or at least the parts that piqued her interest most acutely. His girthy, swaying shaft, the plumply full balls that rested beneath, all cradled between his muscular thighs that spread further of his own volition, unguided by her hands. All lovely, and he was certainly a titan of masculinity, but Dorothea’s fascination lay...elsewhere. To that which lay _behind_ Byleth’s fat nuts. A winking, twitching, throbbing bud that she knew for a fact had barely crossed his mind before now.

Dorothea had a peculiar, particular fascination, one that she carefully kept secret. A select few knew of her interest, and one specific woman in her past had been patient enough to be the means by which Dorothea came to understand her curious affliction.

Dorothea did not consider herself promiscuous. She flirted and played, but actually going further was something she approached much more carefully. If she was beholden to some sort of nymphomania, then it was of the sort that was neither compulsive nor destructive. Still, she liked sex; she liked muscular physiques and supple smoothness; she liked chests and hips, and legs and thighs; she liked pretty faces and handsome countenances. But there was one topic that commanded her attention above all the others, and that was ass. Or butts, or rears, or so on.

Dorothea was entranced particularly strongly by most anything to do with ass. Of the wide range of possibilities enabled by the availability of a back hole, nothing quite engaged Dorothea like the idea of putting her mouth to one. Of using her tongue and lips and teeth, fingers and nose, to please someone’s asshole to the point where they could come undone from its stimulation alone. Eating ass called to her soul. It completed her much the same way singing and dancing did, and the answer as to why eluded her.

Dorothea had theories, for sure. There was a great amount of control that could be exerted in directing someone’s pleasure through their asshole, and the trust embedded in the act could be truly lovely. There was also the surprise factor, in how many wrote off that hole as unusable, unfit for intimacy, and incorporating it opened a partner to a whole new world of delight. It permitted her to experience a truly multifaceted, multi-sense, whole-body experience.

That was not to say that Dorothea objected to being _receptive_ in anal explorations. She adored getting pumped and ploughed up the back end until her partners poured and emptied themselves into her guts, and she loved the strain and challenge. The fervor that such an indulgence required of her could fade away into a flow of languid bliss or come to a roaring, sweaty, furious finish. The end result was that Dorothea came out feeling stronger, more in control, more able to impress than if she just used more conventional means, and that same principle applied to the energy she devoted to devouring a butt. She preferred to think of it as a meal, though.

And lucky Byleth was going to be her first feast at Garreg Mach. Dorothea looked up at Byleth, smiled naughtily, and leaned back forward. Spreading his legs with her hands, Dorothea pushed him backwards in his chair so his hips were more elevated, his cockhead pointing slightly back towards his stomach, nutsack jostling at the new angle. The _perfect_ angle. Here, she could see Byleth’s butthole, a tight, clenching bud nestled below a gap of skin beneath his balls, waiting for someone to attend to it. Waiting for _her._

“Don’t worry, Professor. You’re going to _love_ this.” Dorothea licked her lips, watching his eyes widen with understanding as she dipped her head forward and extended her tongue for the first taste. Once, she might have winced, as she had the first time, but time, experience, and anticipation had weaned her from such tensions. When the slick, smooth muscle of her tongue pressed flatly against Byleth’s back hole, near the bottom, and licked up slowly, he tensed, fists clenching, letting out a puff of air from his nostrils at the unexpected, unfamiliar sensation. 

Every person had their style, their flavor and scent, perfume and taste. Dorothea knew better than to just see this as an extension of her tongue’s dexterity. Rather, it required and permitted her to experience it through all of her senses, and could be equal parts meditative and marvelous. Byleth was curious even compared to most men whose rears she’d rimmed, though, but perhaps that was simply because most men just didn’t compare to him. He was salty in a sharper manner than could be attributed to sweat, somewhat metallic in a dull, flat way that would have nonplussed her if it wasn’t so unique.

He smelled of blood, coppery and saline, and she was worried she’d bit and broken the skin before realizing that, no, there was no incision. Byleth simply carried that scent around him, concentrated particularly on his crotch, and now she could experience it fully, right from the source. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so enthralling. Dorothea hummed as she crested her lick, flicking the top of his asshole with her tongue in a circular motion before dragging it back down, feeling him twitch under the touch of her tongue. Byleth was staring at her intently, not yet reduced to strain or surrender, but still clearly under the as-of-yet unforeseen influence of realizing that this felt _good_. How fitting that she should find his weakness here!

Dorothea sighed and leaned further forward, nestling her nose into Byleth’s ballsack, his stiff dick resting on the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes to focus on the fat, full nuts now obstructing her nasal passageways. The blockage of air gave her some urgency, but also the opportunity to awash her mind with the multifaceted stimuli of his musk and taste. If she was going to eat, she’d made it a whole meal. 

Her tongue pushed inward, delicately, not wanting to strain him. Byleth groaned, the most he’d emoted and reacted since Dorothea had started rimming him, and his cock twitched between her eyes. Inside, his ass was warm, taut, and pulsing with alternating pressures of give and resistance, but she had the room to circle her tongue along the inner ring of his rear. Dorothea curled her tongue on the downward movement to better address the little nooks that a more general tongue-dipping wouldn’t reach, feeling Byleth’s asshole clench around her tongue. 

Byleth grunted, and she could tell he was suppressing a yelp. The joy Dorothea already felt welling up from within her core at being able to lick and mouth her dear Professor was magnified by a deeper pride at pushing this cold, dispassionate man to the brink of his restraint. She had already known that she would adore this, and it sincerely fulfilled her to see him so strained. 

And she’d barely begun! But this was his first time, and she could understand his eagerness and sensitivity at the novelty of it all. Dorothea derived disproportionate pleasure from eating ass, and nothing excited her more than initiating someone into its mysteries. She wasn’t just going to get Byleth off with her tongue up his ass. She was going to make this something Byleth would _never_ forget, and to do that, she’d treat Byleth like a god. She’d worship, revere, and pamper him, to make sure he understood just how much opportunity this avenue of enjoyment could offer.

Dorothea took a deep breath of Byleth’s ball-musk, more for the high of it than any need to breathe, and pushed her face further forward, nudging her nostrils deeper into his nutsack. At the same time, she brought her hand up to gently close around the tip of Byleth’s shaft and rub it languidly, a comforting, familiar pleasure that would help him associate long-understood feelings with the new sort of peak that was going to wash over him. As she did so, she let her lips come to a rest on Byleth’s asshole and gave it a sweet, lingering kiss, more of a long press than a peck, and swirled her tongue confidently inside Byleth’s butt.

Byleth was panting openly now, mouth half-open, face flushed, droplets of sweat dripping down his features. His eyes were fixed intently on her, unblinking even as the rest of him strained, and she could feel the imminent orgasm throbbing in his balls as they rested above her lip, still blocking her nostrils. Dorothea was still circling her tongue, giving his asshole kisses, all in a steady, slow motion. She didn’t need to rush to bring him to a peak.

Byleth’s hand came down to tangle in her hair, nudging her hat askew. His fingers trembled. He was clearly trying hard not to grab her locks, or dig his nails into her scalp, but Byleth’s limit was upon him, and he needed an anchor. Looking up at him, Dorothea winked, smiled as best she could with her lips on his asshole, and gave him a thumbs-up with her free hand. The hand she had on his dick gave him a steady stroke and squeeze. Byleth’s gaze glassed over, his breathing hitched, his asshole and balls clenched in tandem, and his dick shuddered.

Byleth’s first cumshot splattered messily into Dorothea’s palm, frothing with the continued stroking, then dripped along her wrist onto her hat and the top of her hair. The second scattered over and missed her palm completely as she released his shaft and let the head rest on her hair, the fluid dashing across her still-clothed lower back and butt, streaking the fabric of her uniform and dress. In anticipation of the third shot, Dorothea leaned back, separating her tongue and lips from Byleth’s rear with a slurping sound. A messy string of saliva connected her mouth to his asshole, but she still kept her lips parted and aimed his cockhead directly at her face, smiling broadly as he used the hand not on her head to tug his shaft urgently. 

He clenched his jaw, staring directly at Dorothea, at her grinning face, cumstained hair and hat, happy eyes and hungry mouth. She knew she must have made quite a sight, and found yet more satisfaction as he brought forth not one, but two more eruptions. The first—third, really—hosed down Dorothea’s forehead, eyebrows, and the bridge of her nose, oozing down sloppily onto her eyes, cheeks, nose and lips in a warm splatter. The fourth jetted directly onto her still-outstretched tongue, washing it with his salty load as more was pumped back towards her throat.

Dorothea shuddered as she was showered and hosed down, utterly plastered in Byleth’s spunk. It was wonderfully warm, and comfortingly clingy, dripping down in gobs from her jawline to the shoulder of her outfit and cleavage. Dorothea closed her mouth and gulped, then opened it again to show that she’d swallowed what he’d splattered onto her tongue. Byleth finally released his hand from her cum-drenched hair, leaning back with a sigh, the fingers on his dick relaxing and slipping away as he watched her tenderly pull her hat from her head, give him another smile, and dip her thumb into some of the pooled cum, popping the digit into her mouth and sighing contentedly.

Dorothea would absolutely need to wash up before she went absolutely _anywhere_. But it was worth it for the moment of perfect awe in Byleth’s face as he beheld her in her utterly overworked, stickily drenched state.

“Thank you, Professor.” Dorothea giggled girlishly, as if she wasn’t splattered in a load of spunk that she’d worked out of him by eating his ass. “Let’s do this again sometime, hm~?”

It was a rhetorical question. Both because she knew Byleth wasn’t in any position to answer, and because Dorothea knew that she’d be back. She had him hooked, now, and that was almost more erotic than the actual act.

* * *

Felix was a prickly fellow, even compared to her fellow Black Eagles. His surliness set him apart from the rest of the Blue Lions. Very little seemed to interest him other than swordsmanship, training to perfect his swordsmanship, and, well, taking care of anything that _distracted_ him from those two things. But he was handsome, came from a wealthy and respected family, and available.

 _Un_ fortunately, he was utterly unapproachable. He seemed immune to Dorothea’s charm, and not only ignored her, but actively repulsed her. Quite rudely, too, and he hardly seemed bothered at the suggestion that he was offending her. She’d been on the verge of giving up when she’d had what she’d like to call an epiphany of sorts.

If all Felix focused on was swordsmanship...then perhaps approaching him from that angle would be worthwhile? Dorothea had some experience in bladework, what with all the stage fighting she’d had to pick up for the more martial sorts of operas, and the risk of unwanted advances or kidnapping that she’d had to be prepared for. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d listed “swordfighting” as a strength of hers on her application, and Byleth had tutored her in kind. 

Felix accepted her offer to spar. _That_ had been an invigorating and worthwhile experience, including for her continued advances in swordfighting, and her efforts improved Felix’s perception of her enough that he no longer shooed her off right away when she approached. But he still shrugged off longer conversation, and deeper probings into something that might help her know him were cut off in no uncertain terms.

One day, he had lashed out again.

“Why are you bothering me?” Felix had snapped. “You have some skill at the sword, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be letting you interrogate me. When we’re not sparring, leave me alone.”

“Fair enough, Felix, but what I want to say actually is _about_ sparring.”

That had raised an eyebrow, and blunted his frustration. “What?”

“Well, sort of. Point is, fine, I _get_ that I annoy you, Felix. You need to play the gruff, distant master swordsman, and that’s fine, I’m not going to stop you, and I doubt I can, anyway.” Dorothea had rolled her eyes. “I’ll say it quickly so you don’t interrupt me. I promise I’ll stop bothering you outside of our duels if you let me show you something that I think will help you focus, and better hone your training.”

“...Hm. I don’t see what you can offer me, but…” Felix had sighed, and Dorothea had known that she had him. He was too intrigued to back out, at the promise of something beneficial to his single-minded pursuit of strength. “Fine. _Once_.”

“Good. If this doesn’t help, I promise I’ll never bother you outside of sparring again.” Dorothea had grinned. “But you might prefer I stick around.”

“Hmph.” Felix had frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. He hadn’t known what was in store for him.

As long as she had framed it as preparation for what she needed to do to help, Dorothea had found Felix...unexpectedly amenable to her instructions. He had bent over slightly, spreading his legs and resting his hands on one of the pillars in the training grounds, probably assuming that she was going to massage him. She _was_ , but not how he thought.

That was why she was presently draping herself across his back, nibbling his ear, and finding him unexpectedly compliant. Her breasts pressed into his back, her hand reached down between his legs, and she whispered in between nips at his earlobe. 

“Easy there, Felix, I promise, just a moment…”

“H-hurry it up!” He growled, then hissed when her fingers grazed his covered bulge. “Whatever you’re going to do, get it over with. I’m humoring you, and if you waste this opportunity…”

“Impatient, are we?” Dorothea crooned, then gave him another lick on the side of his ear, feeling Felix shudder. “Don’t worry, Felix, I’ll take care of you...and you’ll be the _best_ swordsman in Garreg Mach when I’m done.”

“I already am.”

Dorothea didn’t respond. She cupped Felix’s crotch in her palm, brushing against the outline of his cock and balls that she could feel through the fabric, and cooed in satisfaction as she got to work.

Stripping him had been easy. Spreading his cheeks to get him ready had been even easier. Her fingers dug into the firm flesh of his backside, keeping his buttocks stretched wide to expose his puckered, tense, throbbing hole for her to gobble up. 

With a happy sigh, Dorothea wrapped a hand around his dick, thumb resting below his hanging balls, and gave him a few long, slow strokes. Felix demanded a more delicate touch than Byleth, unless she wanted to spook him off of this, so she didn’t dive right into his backside with hungry licks and aggressively famished sucks on his back entrance. She eased him in by dedicating attention to working his length, resisting the urge to bury her face in his backside until he was sufficiently relaxed.

At least Felix wasn’t sneering at her, or otherwise distracting her. He seemed far too focused on the sensation of his dick being jerked to really put much effort into communicating his trademark grousiness, and that gave Dorothea the opportunity to sneak in, just a little. Instead of shoving her tongue right inside, Dorothea puckered her lips and planted a pert, petite peck on his asshole, tickling the opening with her mouth. He hissed, and his cock throbbed in her grip, so she rewarded him with a comforting squeeze and faster up-and-down stroke on his dick.

Dorothea kept kissing him, feathering smooches on Felix’s back hole tenderly, lingering longer and longer with every touch, stroking him just a bit more quickly and clenching more strongly around his girth as she went. She parted her lips more, softly circling her tongue around his ass, tickling the nerves and soothing the sensitivity with more kisses when he tensed and grunted.

For all of his frustrated silence, Felix’s erection was telling the truth that he was refusing to verbalize. He looked painfully hard, cock at full mast and pointing directly at the pillar he was leaning his face and hands against, bobbing every time Dorothea kissed or licked his rear. She could raise the intensity and bring him to an explosive finish if she so desired, but Dorothea wanted to drag it out, to make his first time as sweetly memorable as she could. All the better to get him coming back for more.

So she kept one hand on Felix’s butt, the other softly enfolding his dick, and didn’t stop, but didn’t speed up, either. Dorothea just kept measuring out kisses and lapping, swirling motions of her tongue, trying to tease and tutor him in her own way. She supposed she could frame this as a sort of appetizer, or first course, and a way to whet her appetite for future sessions, since she had zero doubt that he’d want more. His dick was certainly responding happily enough, and his back hole was puckering in sync with her lips as she smooched and tasted him.

The only issue was, well...Dorothea was just _too_ skilled. Or Felix was too sensitive. Even at her most languid, leisurely pace, she could still see the signs that she was pushing him over. His asshole tensed, his ballsack seized up above her thumb, and his dick throbbed and shuddered in her grip. Felix let a growl rumble up from his throat that hitched and rose an octave higher than he probably intended as he came. Dorothea kept her lips firmly, but gently pressed in a kiss on his asshole, humming to let the vibrations carry right to his balls. They pulsed and he spewed, spraying down the pillar with his load. Dorothea stopped stroking and kept her palm near the base of his shaft, squeezing softly to milk more spurts out of his cockhead, buzzing her lips in satisfaction with every burst of cream, watching Felix paint the stone a different shade of white until his nutsack finally relaxed and his dick stopped pouring out cum.

Dorothea smiled, pressed as her face was in between his buttcheeks, and patted him appreciatively on the rear with the hand not on his dick. She’d done it, she’d shown him just how worthwhile all this was, and now he was hooked, and-

“Pointless.” Felix scowled and unclenched his fists, trying to move away from Dorothea. “If you wanted to waste my time, congratulations, you’ve succeeded. I hope it was worth never speaking with me again.”

“‘M srry?” Dorothea mumbled, not moving her face from Felix’s rear, trying to talk around a mouthful of his ass. “Mwht?”

“Y-you heard me. Now shut up and get off me.” Felix scoffed, and Dorothea felt a cold, hollow pit of fear sink in her stomach. No, no, this couldn’t...what had she messed up? How…?

Now it was _her_ turn to frown as something firmer, warmer, fiercer started to spark in her core. She could tell that Felix was just trying to tick her off, push her away with his insufferable frostiness. The speed with which he’d cum told her that he was lying, that this _hadn’t_ been unfulfilling for him. He’d stumbled over his words for a half-second there, too, and was now back to a sullen, ornery silence. 

No. Dorothea wouldn’t let him get away with ignoring her so easily. If she’d truly thought that she’d failed to make the case for getting his ass eaten, she’d have conceded and retreated to lick her wounds, and someone else’s butthole, but Felix couldn’t have made it more obvious that he had enjoyed it. He was just being a contrarian jerk, refusing to acknowledge the validity of this new experience.

Well, she’d show him. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” Dorothea snapped as she leaned her head away from his asshole, lips separating with a wet _pop_ that forced another grunt from Felix, and a twitch from the dick in her hand. “I’m onto you, Felix, and I’m not going to let you pretend that this was anything other than amazing.”

“Shut up.” Felix scoffed, trying to slip to the side now that her face wasn’t in his rear. But Dorothea kept her hands on his dick and buttcheek.

“Don’t lie to yourself, Felix.” Dorothea stayed on her knees, but kept her hands in place and turned to the side so Felix was forced to move until he had swapped places with her, and she was between him and the pillar. A flicker of concern passed over his features at being guided by his cock in the direction Dorothea pleased, but now his dick was in her face, still stiff and hard and eager to let loose. She gripped it by the base and smacked herself across the cheeks with it, smiling and panting hungrily, shuddering slightly when the impact sent vibrations through her skin. Every _whump_ was a bracing, clarifying thrum that she felt through her teeth, tongue, and throat, and every smack also brought his balls brushing against her chin, still weighty and primed despite having just blown a load.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you hated it.” Dorothea crooned, eyes half-lidded as she dragged her tongue along the side of his dick messily, then brushed her lips against his balls in an indelicate smooch. “Tell me, Felix, that getting your ass eaten didn’t feel amazing. That _me_ eating your ass didn’t feel amazing.”

Her confident, smouldering stare met his, even as Dorothea opened her mouth and drummed his cockhead against her tongue, then kissed it.

Felix waited for the count of one, two, and then three, and then looked away. 

“Disgraceful.” He mumbled. By all appearances, a concession. Dorothea beamed, and rewarded him with another slobbering smooch on his dickhead, another tug on the base of his shaft, and her other hand coming up to cradle his ballsack in her cupped palm.

“...Disgracefully useless. I don’t know what possessed you to think that it would mean anything for me.” Felix grumbled, clenching his teeth, trying to ignore the stimulation. He still wasn’t meeting her eyes. Dorothea’s triumph died as quickly as it had come, and she released his nutsack from her hand, and his cockhead from her lips. Evidently, he was not ready to accept the reality of the situation. 

Perhaps she’d been too lenient before, and the situation, rather than calling for a sensitive, accommodating approach, would require her to bring everything she had to bear. Well, she could do that just fine.

“If that’s what you truly believe, then…” Dorothea didn’t end her sentence. She surprised Felix by darting her hands away from his cock and nutsack, one pushing on his thigh, the other scooping the small of his back. Felix yelped as he fell backwards, throwing his hands out behind him to stop his head from hitting the stone, just as she had anticipated. Now he was resting on his back, cock sticking up, thighs spread, and Dorothea had the space to move and work quickly while he was too busy regaining his balance.

Kneeling further down, Dorothea grabbed the bottom of Felix’s calves and lifted his legs, hoisting his legs up until the back of his knees were resting on her shoulders. At this angle, Felix’s hips were forced slightly off the ground, his still-stiff dick bobbing and pointing towards his own belly. Dorothea shifted the hands that had been holding Felix’s legs and splayed her fingers out across his belly, brushing and stroking the skin, feeling him twitch and tingle beneath her touch. But she didn’t come into contact with his throbbing, twitching cock, neither with her fingers nor her lips as she bent towards his now upturned asshole, dipping closer to the twitching, clenching opening, angled perfectly for her to eat.

So she did. She didn’t give him a moment to acclimate, or really do much of anything to get him ready. She just darted forward and planted a wet, messy kiss right on his butthole, delighted in how Felix yelped in shock at the contact. Dorothea’s mouth began furiously sucking, her cheeks hollowing inward as she exerted an inward pressure in her slurping of Felix’s asshole, holding his stomach down with his hips in the air, and his legs still on her shoulders. Felix’s position would put more strain on the back of his shoulders, but he wasn’t trying to pull free, not yet.

Dorothea hummed, the buzz of her lips vibrating undulating through the sensitive nerves of Felix’s rear, and she knew it had to be producing a tingling sensation that went right to his cockhead. Sure enough, his length twitched, and he groaned, head angled down to look at her as Dorothea pressed her mouth firmly onto his rear. She wasn’t kissing him, not anymore, and was now slobbering in her efforts to exert force on the tight bud, to tease it open with the stimulation of her mouth. 

Dorothea nipped quickly on the top of Felix’s hole, dragging her teeth along the puckering at the rim, producing another, higher groan from his lips. He was looking at her intently, caught between anger, surprise, and apprehensive anticipation, hands balled into fists. His right arm trembled, but when he reached for his dick, to stroke himself off, she frowned and shot one of her hands forward, pinning his wrist to his belly, his fingers inches away from the base of his dick. 

Dorothea’s intent was clear: he was going to cum just from his ass, or not at all. Felix frowned in frustration, but seemed to know better than to press the point. Good. That gave her the opportunity to focus on making this meal into an absolute _feast_ , and such fine food needed to be tasted and savored, not just wolfed down.

So when she gave his asshole a particularly powerful suck, feeling his legs tense in response, she sensed her opportunity. Spreading her lips wider, Dorothea shoved her tongue forward, the slippery muscle barrelling past the twitching ring of Felix’s asshole and digging in deep, treading inside his rear in a way he’d never experienced before. 

Felix hissed, but the sound quivered on his lips, and came out less intimidating than uncertain. Dorothea chanced a glance at his face, obstructed as it was by his balls and cock in her field of view. Felix was blushing now, face flushed red and warm, and the pressure on the left side of his jaw told Dorothea that he was chewing the inside of his cheek. That was a bad habit, but if it helped him deal with going from “low-intensity rimming” to “furiously energetic ass-eating” then Dorothea was fine. Just as long as he didn’t blow _too_ quickly, and gave her more of a chance to devour him.

Dorothea wriggled her tongue inside, swirling and sliding it, tasting the salt and taut tension of Felix’s undulating back hole, which throbbed in response to the slightest stimulation. She curled the tip, and dragged it down the top side, as far back as she could reach, digging into his anal walls on the path backwards. That brought a more hurried yelp from Felix, and a drop of shimmering precum dotted his cockhead. Good, that was _good_ progress. She already had him hooked: she just needed to pull him in powerfully enough that he couldn’t break free. If only she could reach his prostate from here, but alas, other means would have to do.

Felix didn’t know the difference. By how his face was scrunching, contorting, and his whole body was trembling, he looked to be nearly there already. Dorothea had already made her case as strongly as she could, but a little more couldn’t hurt. So she redoubled her efforts and pace, quickening her movements, slurping and sucking on his asshole as her tongue writhed, swirled, dragged and prodded inside Felix’s rear, tasting and testing everything she could, and all with one singular intent.

To get Felix to cum harder than he ever had before in his life. To force him to look at her so he couldn’t hide the pleasure in his face as he got his ass eaten so hard that he could erupt from its stimulation alone. To make him understand how much pleasure there was to be found in dancing to the tune of her tongue and lips, just so long as they were lovingly and frantically put to work on his rear. 

Felix performed spectacularly. He stared Dorothea straight in the eye, only wavering when she winked back up at him, but that didn’t stop him from erupting furiously. His load splattered across his belly, shooting up to his chest and neck, shoulders and chin, hosing down his front with streaks of salty spunk, born from Dorothea’s expert ass-eating. His balls seized up, twinging and tensing, in time with the puckering and undulating of his asshole around her tongue and lips, and she urged him along with happy, satisfied, proud little hums and coos, the thrum of sound adding to the pleasure surging up from his taint to his nuts to his cockhead.

His face told her everything. His mouth was open in a half-groan, half-whine, but for a half-second, absolute awe and adoration tinged his gaze. Felix was entranced, united with Dorothea in this moment of perfect continuity, his every sense focused on the magic being worked on and in his asshole, and the consequences it held for the rest of him: Hurried, desperate, clarifying orgasm. 

Dorothea grinned into Felix’s butt, and he shuddered, gulped, and only started to relax once he’d stopped showering himself in his own spunk. He did not verbally acquiesce, but they both knew there was no way he was going to be able to pretend that that wasn’t one of the best things he’d ever felt. The silent acknowledgement was enough for her.

Felix would be a marvelous meal indeed. Dorothea would have to indulge herself with him whenever she could, but she had a feeling he might be calling on _her_ more frequently than he’d ever admit. Such was the appeal of her ass-eating aptitude.


	3. Blonde Butt Buffet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return back to the present, and to another aspect of Dorothea's rimming fascination: Eating the asses of the lovely ladies of Garreg Mach. Or two of them, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the title. 
> 
> If it's not clear, this is going forward to the proper chronology with respect to the last chapter. So, it's set AFTER the first one, with Felix, Byleth, and Petra, which itself is before the second chapter in this story. Prequels are confusing, and I will blame Hentai Foundry's absence of a chapter organization tool for this situation.
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke).

Dorothea sat at her table in the dining hall, doing her best to not stand out. Not an easy task, given that most of the time the was actively _trying_ to set herself apart, but the circumstances called for a subtler bearing.

Felix would never fully acknowledge just how dearly he treasured her attentions. It just wasn’t his way. But for all his grumbling, protests, and silence, he always quietly enjoyed what Dorothea could do to him when it came time to make him her meal. It wouldn’t be long before he was inviting her of his own accord, rather than accepting her interest, though she never expected him to be anything other than surly and disguised about it.

Professor Byleth required less careful navigation during the actual act, but was far less available given his multiple responsibilities, and generally less reactive than even the tight-lipped Felix. Byleth was disconcertingly able to exert self-control even when she effected her most elaborate ass-eating abilities on him, and it took all Dorothea had to get him to cum with her lips on his butt. Still, he was handsome, especially when Dorothea had her tongue up his ass and his balls on her nose, and he had made for a marvelous model when she’d taken the plunge and had decided to introduce Petra to her particular fascination.

Petra hadn’t quite stepped all-in on that front yet, but Dorothea had faith. Petra hadn’t had a chance to go again, since the first time, so Dorothea would have to address that soon lest her friend fall out of practice. Still, it had only been two weeks since that first fateful day, so no need to rush. Dorothea was quite pleased with all three of the people she’d ingratiated herself with in this manner so far, and far from bored with either of them, but enjoyment did not equal contentment. Dorothea’s compulsions required further satiation, and that put her in an unusual position: In the dining hall, watching another woman cook as she mulled whether or not they would be amenable.

Dorothea had not intended to limit her search to men. Indeed, the person who had originally sparked Dorothea’s enchantment with anal pleasures was another woman, who had remained influential in Dorothea’s life, and inspired Dorothea's goals even beyond her fascination with eating ass. They were a friend, _more_ than a friend, from the opera company, who was now...nearby, at the monastery, in a way that was equal parts awkward and intriguing. Dorothea would have to deal with that later, but she couldn’t avoid them forever.

But yes, Dorothea’s attention, whether for fulfillment of her fascination or as a potential long-term partner, had never been restricted to men. The way things worked at Garreg Mach, and Fódlan at large, it was _usually_ men that made the most promising candidates for flirting, courtship, and the fantasy of marriage, thanks to the lands they held and the esteem their titles carried. That did not preclude her from viewing women or persons of other attribution as appealing options, and such a lady stood in her purview now, on the other side of the room.

Mercedes von Martritz was...difficult to parse. On the surface, she was a clumsy, good-natured young woman, the oldest of her class, and the second-oldest of the whole student body, beaten only by that mountain man, Balthus. She gave every impression of simple, silly, smiling sweetness, whose patient doting on her classmates was matched only by her adoration for the more literal sugar of baking and confections. She rarely rose her voice, and always maintained a light, airy quality in her speech that defused tension and smoothed over anger. In that perspective, Mercedes was very much a mother, at least in spirit.

Dorothea knew there was something more, though. She kept a good enough track of noble houses and lineages—all the better when looking for a match—that she knew that Mercedes’s noble house had dissolved something like twenty years ago, probably close to when Mercedes had been born. What turn of events had led an Empire-born noblewoman to live in Faerghus as a commoner in all but name? And why could Dorothea sense that, whatever Mercedes’s clumsiness, naivete, and sweetness, that she was more weathered, more worldly and experienced and hurt, than such qualities would suggest? How could she hold them both in tandem? The dichotomy fascinated Dorothea, even if it existed only in her imagination. 

If nothing else, she had suspicions that Mercedes held the same...availability, as it were, for feminine affections. But for all her confidence, Dorothea was not the sort to brazenly stride up and ask. She would need to be cautious, and so she did not approach. Not yet. 

* * *

“Hello Dorothea~!” Mercedes said as she approached Dorothea, smiling softly. She had a habit of closing her eyes when she grinned, a mannerism used to have that habit too, back when she was less experienced in navigating noble feelings. Every little gesture gave away _so_ much in courtly behavior. A true smile had to light up the eyes as well as curl the mouth, and if the former was missing, the expression was inauthentic, the grin false. A woman closing her eyes as she smiled not only reinforced a coquettish, shy bearing, but also obstructed any hidden resentments or condescensions that would be betrayed in the gaze when contrasted with a grin.

Dorothea didn’t need to do that anymore, of course. She was good enough at pretending to be interested to make her eyes glimmer with false enthusiasm, however boring, boorish, or bloviating a conversation partner. She was reluctant to attribute that sentiment to Mercedes, though: Whatever the other woman’s hidden hurts, Dorothea was not yet ready to assume that her bright smile being paired with closed eyelids meant that Mercedes was not actually taking any pleasure in the presence of others. She just...wasn’t that kind of woman, probably, and Dorothea knew she was running the risk of visualizing her own concerns onto someone else.

So Dorothea smiled, and let the light of feigned excitement shine in her eyes. Mercedes had caught Dorothea as she was leaving the greenhouse, since it was her turn to water the Black Eagles’s gardening plot. Mercedes must have been waiting for her outside.

“Hello, Mercedes.” Dorothea dipped her head, doing her very best to not communicate her caution. Something was up, even if Mercedes’s smile was real. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me what _I_ could do for _you_.” Mercedes giggled again, covering her lips with her palm to avoid revealing her teeth, cheeks still stretched in a grin. Oh, she was _good_. She had _all_ the little nuances down. Or was that Dorothea projecting again? 

“I’m sorry?” Dorothea tilted her head to the side, stroking her chin. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mercedes.”

“Oh, still at it, I see? Hm.” Mercedes finally opened her eyes, and she had the same sparkling interest in them that Dorothea was so good at pretending to exhibit. “Well, if you aren’t ready to tell me yet, then I understand! It can be hard to feel safe enough to say how you really feel sometimes. But I let me reassure you, Dorothea, that if you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

“Um, okay. Thanks?” Dorothea quirked her eyebrow, too confused to pretend to understand. What was Mercedes getting at? Dorothea hadn’t gotten anywhere near Mercedes in the dining hall, and barely glanced over at her the whole time.

“Oh, did you not want to ask me anything? I assumed that you were trying to discuss something with me, because you’re normally never in the dining hall when I’m cooking.” Mercedes chuckled again, a sweet, soft sound, with an edge of tease in the undertone. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

Dorothea opened her mouth, for once, unsure how to respond. Mercedes was unexpectedly perceptive. Dorothea had thought she was being subtle, distant, well-disciplined in her perusal. Should she deny that she was looking for anything? Concede that she wanted to talk, which was technically true but not her actual end interest? Coming clean wasn’t an option, but…

“Dorothea? Is something the matter?”

Wait. There it was, the twinkle in Mercedes’s eye. The lilt in her voice. The way she dragged out the high pitch of the question, longer than she needed, knowing and pleased. Dorothea knew those tells well. Mercedes wasn’t just teasing her, she was…

Oh. That was how it was going to be. Clever girl.

“Nothing, Mercedes.” Dorothea said, smiling more broadly. “Nothing’s the matter, at least, but there...is something I would like to talk to you about. A question, about sweets.”

“Oh, sweets? My, my, Dorothea, are you interested in baking? I thought you didn’t enjoy it.” Mercedes replied, resting her knuckles on her chin in a gesture of faux contemplation. Dorothea saw how the other woman’s thumb tapped her lower lip, just a tad, as if in anticipation of a longer dragging motion.

“No, no, I don’t have the faintest interest in cooking, and can’t imagine I’ll ever have the skill. But you, Mercedes...you make the most delightful treats, and there’s one in particular I’ve been wanting to try.” Dorothea crooned, voice dropping an octave lower than she normally spoke, a dramatic enough change for Mercedes to notice.

“What treat would that be, Dorothea? I’ll make it for you as soon as I can!” Mercedes asked, but a little giggle slipped through. The masquerade was paper-thin, if it still existed at all. She was enjoying this.

“Good. That’s good, Mercedes.” Dorothea crooned, eyes scanning for bystanders. They were alone. “It’s a particular kind of cake, Mercedes, and I have a feeling you’re going to like letting me taste it as much as I’ll adore eating it myself.”

“Oh, really?” A knowing, naughty glint alighted in Mercedes’s eyes, and she cooed out the rest of her reply. “Then I’m certainly looking forward to showing you just how delicious my cake can be.”

* * *

Mercedes came off as clumsy, naive, and innocent, but Dorothea could tell by the way she kissed, right away, that her earlier suspicions had been correct. Mercedes knew more than she let on about, well, _all_ of this,, about kissing, and kissing hungrily, and kissing girls, and kissing girls hungrily. Dorothea could tell by every tender little nibble Mercedes gave to her lips, and every heavy moan Mercedes let slip into her mouth. Rather than dragging Dorothea with her down to the bed, Mercedes flowed with the singer’s embrace, slipping her shawl off her shoulders, then stepping from her boots with grace that belied her usual tendency to stumble and trip. 

Dorothea was reluctant to pull free enough to let either of them strip—Mercedes was _so soft_ , impossibly so, her fingers lithe and smooth as they ran over the back of Dorothea’s neck, then down to the edge of her waist. Their close contact and moaning, hungry kissing forced their covered chests together, the plump squishiness of their bosoms pillowing up against each other from the pressure of their proximity. Mercedes kept herself wrapped up snugly, unlike Dorothea, who gave herself the breathable freedom of deep, button-busting cleavage, but the rubbing of their tits together was the final confirmation Dorothea needed for what she had long suspected.

Mercedes was well endowed. Remarkably so, in fact, and were Dorothea more prone to jealousy she might have felt threatened by such magnificent tits. But this was not a time and place for envy, and besides, however much Dorothea might be impressed by Mercedes’s bust, the other woman’s upper body wasn’t her primary objective here.

Mercedes giggled, and Dorothea cooed, as they stripped themselves as best as they were able, parting from the kiss only long enough to get naked in a rush of high-strung, eager movement, and then fall on each other again. This time, Dorothea bore Mercedes down to the bed, wrapping the other woman in her arms, locking their lips together as their now-freed chests could rub together all the more, nipples prodding and poking when they pressed into their partner’s skin. Dorothea hummed and Mercedes enfolded Dorothea around the waist as they continued to kiss, until they had to break away to breathe.

Dorothea panted softly and looked the other woman up and down. A delightfully silky bush crowned Mercedes’s crotch, coloring the apex of her thighs with the same blonde hair that adorned her head, and now that she had a chance to see them for herself, Dorothea could confidently say that, yes, Mercedes’s chest was as delightfully sized as she had anticipated, and as lovely to look upon bare as it felt to rub and squish against. 

Dorothea’s predilections lay elsewhere, but she could not resist. Her hands reached forward, fingers outstretched, palms ready to sink into the pliable softness that awaited. One breath, then two, and then she was digging in, squeezing Mercedes’s tits, rubbing and sliding her thumbs and fingers in circles to massage and stroke in tandem. Dorothea cooed in delight and squished Mercedes’s tits together, leaving the other woman to extend her hands to palm and knead Dorothea’s chest in turn. 

Mercedes’s touch was delicate, but her careful, measured groping of Dorothea’s larger tits did not communicate inexperience. She simply worked at a more leisurely pace, taking her time to sink her fingers into the heft of Dorothea’s bosom and then recede to let her partner relax, using the interim to trace lines with her index finger on Dorothea’s skin. Dorothea grinned openly, biting the inside of her cheek at the pinpricks of pleasure that shuddered through her torso whenever Mercedes dragged her nails across a particularly sensitive spot, or pressed her thumb into Dorothea’s nipples. Their arms crisscrossed as they felt each other up, intently focused on each other’s boobs, Mercedes’s blonde bush rubbing against the brown hair between Dorothea’s legs as they rocked together, until Mercedes couldn’t help but giggle.

“My, my, Dorothea, you seem to be having a good time~.” Mercedes teased. “But goodness me, I thought you wanted cake, not sweetmilk!”

Dorothea smiled and gave Mercedes’s tits another firm, full-on squeeze, then rotated her wrists to palm the other woman’s breasts without moving her fingers. “Oh, I _do_ want cake, Mercedes~. In fact, I think it’s finally time for me to sample your baking.”

“Oh, certainly~.” Mercedes said, releasing Dorothea’s chest. She raised her legs until Dorothea moved her arms out of the way, but Mercedes did not rest her knees on Dorothea’s shoulders, like she’d done with Felix. Mercedes instead drew her legs back further, lifting her hips until her knees were by her head with her feet by the headboard. At this angle, Dorothea could see _everything_ ; the hanging weight of Mercedes’s tits as they hung to the side; the squish and overhang of her belly, wonderfully curved for its slight plumpness; the glisten of Mercedes’s womanhood, capped with blonde hair and a pert little bud at the top; and, of course, that most important opening of all. Mercedes’s asshole, winking and throbbing and puckered, tensing as Mercedes reached with her hands to spread her asscheeks, stretch her butthole, and show off what she’d known Dorothea had wanted all along.

“Eat up, Dorothea. This sweet delight is all yours~.” Mercedes tittered, eyes flicking shut as she laughed quietly in naughty anticipation. Dorothea couldn’t stop herself from licking her lips, nodding approvingly, and replying in kind.

“Thank you, Mercedes. It’s the most delicious cake I’ve ever seen.” Dorothea didn’t need to keep up the confectionary masquerade, but the wordplay was fun, and the back-and-forth it enabled was refreshing. Plus, she would not be lying if she thought that it _wasn’t_ going to be as lovely to munch on Mercedes’s asshole as any pastry, cookie, or tart that the Blue Lions baker could whip up in the kitchen.

Slowly, Dorothea reached her hands forward again, slipping between Mercedes’s upright legs and outstretched arms to grasp the other woman’s tits once again. Sure, she was going to be focusing her attention on eating ass, but Mercedes’s chest was too lovely to neglect, and she wanted to feel it beneath her fingers as she worked. Mercedes chuckled at the contact, but Dorothea elected to nudge her head forward in lieu of a reply, her lips finding their more important purchase right on Mercedes’s taut, slightly stretched, lovingly presented asshole. 

Nuzzling down, Dorothea hummed as her mouth came to rest atop that puckered opening, lips parting to let her teeth nudge against it. Slowly, she began to trailing little nibbles around the tensed outer ring, not biting down so much as sliding her teeth to and fro in a circular motion, softly mouthing at the quivering back entrance with explorative, easy energy. Her nose was dipped forward a tad, enough to bump against the bottom of Mercedes’s slit, but not far enough to put any pressure on the nub at the peak of Mercedes’s womanhood. Dorothea was going to avoid touching it if it was at all possible, and she was confident enough in her ability to eat ass to believe that she’d be able to get Mercedes off without needing to do anything else. Felix, Byleth, and those...few others could testify to that.

Still, it was lovely to gently bite at Mercedes’s butt, nibbling daintily and sweetly as if she really _was_ enjoying a delectable dessert. In Dorothea’s mind, she might as well have been, but the munching movements made it easier to manifest the mental image. It put the littlest bit of pressure on Mercedes’s tender rear as she went, without working things up into the source of voracious devouring that had left Felix emptying his balls in short order from anal stimulation alone. Differing genitalia aside, Dorothea would wager that Mercedes, for all her deficient physical strength, had more sexual stamina than Felix.

But this wasn’t the sort of meal that should be rushed, wolfed and gulped down to make a point. It was to be savored, teased and allowed to roll on the tongue and linger, treasured and drawn out. So, eaten like one of the pastries Mercedes made, despite Hapi’s insistence that such confections be gobbled up in one go. Dorothea didn’t subscribe to that mindset, and it showed in how she lavished constant but careful caresses of her tongue and lips in circular motions along Mercedes’s asshole, licking and nibbling. 

Dorothea was still groping Mercedes’s tits, but she heard the other woman giggled in between her soft, panting moans of pleasure, and chanced a look upward, past Mercedes’s crotch. She’d moved her hands from her asscheeks and was reaching for Dorothea’s hair, to stroke or pull or no, wait, she wasn’t doing either of those. With a louder chuckle, Mercedes snatched the hat off of Dorothea’s hair and slipped it onto her own head, the cap lying askew at an awkward angle.

“My hat now, Dorothea. Sorry~!” Mercedes winked, then cooed.

Dorothea was too busy nomming on Mercedes’s butthole to respond, but she gave the other woman a stuttered grin, and punctuated her sentiment by nudging her tongue inside. Not roughly, just a little dip and slip and in it went, but Mercedes crooned like she’d been rawed up the rear by a violently delightful tongue-lashing. Dorothea’s muffled smile widened. Clearly, the _inside_ of Mercedes’s ass was ripe for sensitive stimulation, and it took all Dorothea’s willpower to not go wild and keep up the slower, circular tonguing and biting, still kneading and pawing at Mercedes’s chest.

It paid dividends, though. It wasn’t long after the first entry of her tongue into Mercedes’s rear that Dorothea felt Mercedes’s legs quiver, thighs tensing, belly rippling as she began to rock her hips to push her asshole onto Dorothea’s tongue. Mercedes came tenderly with a shudder and a whine, butt undulating and tensing around Dorothea’s tongue, twitching against her teeth and lips as she moaned out her release. It was quiet, and calm, and there was little fanfare to it all before Mercedes was laying back, Dorothea’s hat still on her head, hands unclenching and arms relaxing. Dorothea gave Mercedes’s asshole one more delighted nip before she backed off, releasing Mercedes’s tits, to let her lay her sore legs down, the other woman smiling smoothly. 

“Well, I trust that cake was to your satisfaction, Dorothea? Teehee~.” Mercedes giggled. She was a bit sweaty, but not dazed in the way that Byleth or Felix were after Dorothea had eaten their asses. That spoke well to Mercedes’s self-control, stamina, and sexual experience. 

“Delicious.” Dorothea popped her lips and grinned. “I could go for more, even.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask that of you! You’ve already done me such a privilege by tasting my treat!” Mercedes protested in feigned shock, but her eyes were twinkling with delight. “Perhaps you’ve something for me, too? It’s only right that I praise your delicacy in kind!”

Dorothea laughed softly. Even after all that, they couldn’t escape the silly sweet wordplay. Ah, well. It set Mercedes apart, and gave Dorothea a retort as she climbed up the bed, blew the other woman a kiss, and then turned, hoisting her rear above Mercedes’s face. Her own asshole winked and twitched, hovering just out of reach.

“By all means, Mercedes. I’d be honored if you sampled my dessert.”

“How kind, Dorothea. You know how much of a sweet tooth I have. I’ll be sure to enjoy~!” Mercedes crooned, puckering her lips as Dorothea lowered her rear and settled it down on Mercedes’s face. The bud of her butthole came to rest on Mercedes’s lips, and her giggle was muffled by Dorothea’s bum. 

Dorothea sighed in delight as Mercedes planted a full-mouthed kiss on her asshole, cooing, the movement of her lips buzzing against Dorothea’s opening with a pleasant, humming friction. Mercedes’s hands rose to dig into Dorothea’s asscheeks, cupping and kneading the rear above and atop her, tittering with laughter at the way Dorothea’s backside squished under her touch. A quick, soft _whap_ with her hands left Dorothea’s buttocks jiggling, just a bit, enough to send a shudder up Dorothea’s spine, another sigh escaping her at the tap. Mercedes had put almost no force into blow—she didn’t have much strength, anyway—so Dorothea’s bottom wasn’t jostling and quaking with any real gravitas, but it was pretty clear the intent was more playful than rough, so Dorothea wouldn’t hold it against Mercedes. Or, rather, she’d only hold her _ass_ against Mercedes.

Dorothea smiled at her private joke, then bit her lip as Mercedes interrupted her buzzing, giggle-based rimming and parted her lips to take a little nibble out of the corner of Dorothea’s asshole. Not a rough bite, but a teasing hint of teeth and pressure, mixed in with sloppier, drooling kisses. Much like Dorothea had exercised against Mercedes herself. Still, it felt lovely, and Dorothea reached down to sink her fingers into Mercedes’s soft, squishy thighs, grabbing them and holding on, leaning forward to better push her butt into Mercedes’s face. 

Dorothea was holding herself in a leaning squat, sort of. It was hard to properly characterize her position thusly, not when Mercedes’s massive tits were pillowing up against the bottom of Dorothea’s thighs. Mercedes’s plump breasts were the perfect cushion for Dorothea to rest the upper part of her legs on as she put all her weight into sliding backwards, pressing her asshole onto Mercedes’s nipping teeth and kissing lips. Mercedes’s nipples prodded and dug into the back of Dorothea’s legs as she worked, hands still eagerly pawing at Dorothea’s asscheeks, grabbing and squeezing whenever she found the focus between bouts of biting and smattering smooches. 

Mercedes knew how to eat ass, that was for certain. She knew how to restrain her bites so that they elicited a hint of tension at the possibility of pain, without actually going too rough, and thereby keep Dorothea primed for the pricking pleasure of being nibbled. She knew how to properly worship a tensing, throbbing, twitching butthole with reverent kisses, even if they were somewhat messy with drool, pressing her plush lips to Dorothea’s rear entrance with the softness needed to take the edge off of being bitten. She knew how to humm, buzzing her lips to tickle the sensitive spots all throughout Dorothea’s butthole, thrumming and echoing the noise and vibration while she kissed and giggled, nipped and chuckled.

Dorothea moaned happily. Mercedes _absolutely_ knew what she was doing, and she couldn’t be happier to have finally found someone to reciprocate for her. When she ate Felix and Byleth, she was focused on finding pleasure in their reactions: Even if she didn’t cum, it was remarkably fulfilling to see them be undone by her mouth on their asses, and it provided a lovely memory to stimulate herself to when she was alone. With Mercedes for this time at least, though Dorothea was finally being given equal attention, and and it felt fucking fantastic. Maybe she _had_ been neglecting herself.

Mercedes seemed to sense Dorothea’s joy, because she trilled in muted, muffled amusement, the hum buzzing Dorothea’s rear all over again. One of Dorothea’s hands slipped down, coming to rest on Mercedes’s stomach, on the squishy, slightly jiggly softness of the other woman’s tummy, and she gently grabbed a handful of loose belly to steady herself as Mercedes started to _really_ lay into her. Still massaging Dorothea’s asscheeks, Mercedes flicked her tongue out and in, sliding into Dorothea’s butthole smoothly and snugly, giving her the room to slurp all around inside in whirling scooping motions, dragging along the inner, taut tightness of Dorothea’s back entrance. Just as easily, she slipped her tongue out to swirl it in a rapid circle around Dorothea’s puckering, clenching rear, and then shoved it back into the winking, startled opening. Mercedes’s lips were locked in a seal around Dorothea’s asshole, kissing her hungrily and humming all the while to assault Dorothea’s backside with buzzing vibration and earnest kisses.

Dorothea mewled, moving the hand on Mercedes’s thigh up to grasp her own breast, squeezing and massaging her bosom to compound her indulgence in the experience. She shoved back more, smothering Mercedes’s face until all the other woman could see, feel, smell and taste was ass, her lips latched onto the back hole, her nose nudging just above, her face constrained by the twin globes of Dorothea’s buttocks. Two cheeks trapping two cheeks. Mercedes seemed to find it funny, and her laughter redoubled Dorothea’s pleasure with more undulating waves of persistent pressure. 

The former songstress wanted to believe that she had some stamina, but she felt her strength fading. Or maybe Mercedes had been rimming her for longer than expected. Whatever the case, Dorothea couldn’t hold out, the multiple angles of stimulation uncoiling the knotted tension in her core and crotch, until the heat that stayed trapped within threatened to spill forth. She didn’t stop it.

Dorothea came, body writhing, hands gripping Mercedes’s stomach and her own tit more securely, rocking her hips back in unsteady movements to push down on the other woman’s face. Her thighs trembled and her whole form quivered and shook, Mercedes’s tits and hands on Dorothea’s ass doing more to keep her steady than her own limbs. The orgasm welled up, and warmth and electricity suffused through her in a bubbling wave of cresting pleasure, and she bit her lip to stop herself from howling with delight, lest her famous singing voice ring out louder than intended and identity her beyond the room. But she only barely managed the restraint: More than that, Dorothea was wildly afire with the gratification of Mercedes’s rimming, and didn’t come down from it until her pussy stopped tensing and her head stopped being assaulted with the white noise of overstimulation.

Dorothea slowly eased to the side, panting and tired, and Mercedes giggled hoarsely, face red and breathing heavy from being sat on, sort of. Smiling, Dorothea turned and leaned down to kiss Mercedes, sloppily and without focus, but well enough to make contact. Their tits squished together as they made out, arms wrapped in each other’s embrace, and the true naughtiness of the gesture was made apparent.

They could taste their own asses on each other’s lips.

* * *

“Dorothea.”

The woman in question paused, her cup raised to her lips, about to sip. The apple-blend tea steaming in the ceramic container was a hair’s breadth from her mouth, but she waited for a half-second to discern the identity of the new arrival at the little hedge-ringed pavilion past the knight’s quarters. The low voice that greeted her ears was, indeed, that of Ingrid, and as Dorothea allowed herself to swallow a tiny gulp of hot tea, she caught the sway of braided blonde hair in the corner of her eye. 

“Hello, Ingrid. How are you doing?” Dorothea asked, without turning around. Ingrid paused and started to speak, then frowned and walked to the opposite end of the table, resting her hands on the surface and facing Dorothea.

“I...Yes, I’m doing well, thank you, Dorothea.” Ingrid trailed off again as Dorothea took another sip of tea before finally looking up, meeting Ingrid’s green gaze. Come to think of it, Ingrid had almost the exact same eye color as Dorothea. It might have been uncanny if not for the fact that unusual eye colors seemed to be common among the Officer’s Academy students.

There was an awkward pause, and Dorothea slurped down another bit of her drink. Ingrid looked away, then back at Dorothea, mouth scrunched in a tight line. Dorothea knew that look. Ingrid wanted to say something, but wasn’t able to find the words, or couldn’t figure out if it was a good idea.

“Is something the matter? You know you can always talk to me, Ingrid.” Admittedly, Dorothea had not actually spoken to Ingrid all that much in their weeks together. In part as a result of their different classes, and in part because Ingrid frequented the dining hall, stables, and training ground far more than Dorothea ever did. Their areas of interest didn’t overlap. Still, Dorothea wanted to believe that Ingrid could rely on her: The former songstress generally didn’t try to intentionally antagonize anyone if she could help it.

“Yes, thank you, Dorothea, and I think I _do_ have a question for you, actually.” Ingrid still couldn’t meet Dorothea’s eyes. The tension in her jaw told Dorothea that the other woman was chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Well, ask away! You know I’m happy to help.” Dorothea smiled disarmingly, or at least tried to.

“Maybe I should come back later, you’re drinking tea—”

“Ingrid.” Dorothea said a bit more firmly. “Don’t be silly. Drinking tea isn’t going to stop me from answering whatever questions you may have, and besides…”

She took a long, drawn-out gulp, dipping the cup back and then leaving it to rest on the table. Smacking her lips together with a loud _pop_ , Dorothea sighed as the warmth of her drink spread through her. 

“...I’m already done. So, Ingrid, let’s hear it.”

“Not here.” Ingrid replied, tilting her head towards the hedge, tapping her finger nervously on the edge of the table. “The stables? I’d...rather there be fewer people around, or no one, if we can help it.”

That earned a raised eyebrow from Dorothea, but she nodded and stood, following Ingrid down the path, to the dirt-covered corner of the front of the monastery, where the mounts were housed. Dorothea didn’t spend much time here, and it took her a moment to remember that, yes, this place was supposed to smell like horse. She was just glad that her skills didn’t lend her to riding, so she didn’t have to spend much time around them. That was more Ingrid’s thing.

“Now, Ingrid, how can I help you? There’s nobody else here, so speak up! I promise I won’t laugh.” Dorothea giggled. “Is it embarrassing? Oh, it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? Wait, that’s probably not helping.”

“No, it’s not.” Ingrid looked down at her feet, fiddling with her thumbs. 

“I’m sorry, Ingrid, that wasn’t appropriate. But please, what’s on your mind? I can’t answer your question if you don’t—”

“I know about what happened with Mercedes.” Ingrid blurted out, then suddenly clammed up, eyes widening with surprise at her own outburst. There was silence for a moment as Dorothea took it in, a knotted coil of concern welling up within her core. Should she deny it? No, that would probably not work out well, even if Ingrid was less able to spot a lie than others were. But she’d rather not just walk right into a reveal. Better to play it safe, and try to mitigate the worry.

“...Know what, Ingrid?” Dorothea asked cautiously.

“I know...I heard that you and Mercedes, you, together…” Ingrid rubbed the back of her neck, cringing as she spoke. “Yeah. Please don’t make me say it.”

“Ingrid, there’s nobody here besides the two of us and those horses over there, and if we want to avoid a misunderstanding I’m going to have to ask you to clarify what you mean. We may be talking about different things.”

“I know about you and Mercedes, how the two of you yesterday, you...did things.” Ingrid’s face flushed red, and she rested her hand on her opposite shoulder, as if to steady herself. “Is that close enough? Or do you actually need me to articulate the whole thing?”

Dorothea sighed. No use dancing around it now. She didn’t want to torment the poor girl. “All right, Ingrid. How did you find out?”

“Mercedes, she told me last night, after dinner.” Ingrid frowned slightly at the memory. “She...she probably didn’t mean to give so much away, but you know how she can blabber a bit longer and more than she means to. It kind of just slipped out that she had...with you.” 

The worry rose back up in Dorothea’s stomach, now colder. It was the anxiety that anticipated the deeper, frosty grip of fear, the kind that left her head reeling and limbs trembling. For all her flirting, Dorothea was careful to not _actually_ cavort luridly with most of the people she went on dates, dinners, and dances with. She wasn’t stupid. If she got a reputation for being a certain kind of woman, well, that’d kill her marriage prospects more assuredly than almost any kind of ugliness, so it was critical that she maintain both her looks and her good standing. She’d trusted Felix, Byleth, and Petra, but if Mercedes was letting it slip so easily…

“Was there anyone else in the room when she told you, Ingrid?” Dorothea asked slowly, trying not to sound too frightened.

“No, just me.” Ingrid replied, brow furrowed in sympathy. She could probably pick up on Dorothea’s nervousness. 

“Okay.” Dorothea allowed herself a breath and a momentary lull in her compounding apprehensions. “Okay, good, that’s good.” 

“And I...I won’t tell anyone else, Dorothea. I promise.” Ingrid nodded, still looking concerned.

“I...oh, _thank you_ , Ingrid.” Dorothea sighed with earnest relief. _That_ made her feel better. “Truly, I mean it.”

“Hey, um, don’t mention it. It was almost as embarrassing for me as it probably was for you.” Ingrid tried to chuckle, but stopped halfway through, the sound dying in her throat. 

Dorothea couldn’t stop herself from laughing a little at how quickly her concern had arisen only to fall back down again. Now all she had to do was make sure to remind Mercedes that she wasn’t supposed to let what had happened to any more people. No matter how good Mercedes was at eating ass—and Dorothea had to suppress a shudder at the memory of the other woman’s tongue expertly slurping and slipping into and around her rear entrance, giggling and nibbling eagerly with she squeezed and squished the buttcheeks above her—Dorothea would much, much rather that she not go around telling tales about Dorothea’s proclivities or giving people the impression that the former songstress was promiscuous.

“All right, Ingrid. But seriously, thank you _so_ much. Really. I don’t know how I can repay you.” Dorothea was no Hilda, but figures of speech derived from debts and crediting still slipped into her words from time to time. It felt like an offhanded thing, done without thinking, sort of like how Ignatz or Marianne said “sorry.” She didn’t expect anything to come of it.

So when Ingrid nodded nervously and clasped her hands together, rocking on her heels, Dorothea was surprised. 

“Um, actually, about that. Maybe don’t think of this as repayment, but...well.” Ingrid looked away, then down at the ground again. “Can you...Mercedes said some things, when she wasn’t thinking, and it sounded like a lot of fun, and…”

Dorothea couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her eyes widened, and she raised her hand to cover her gaping mouth. No, surely not…?

“Ingrid, what are you saying?”

“Just...Mercedes went on about it for a bit, about how…” Ingrid blushed even more deeply, somehow. “...About how good it was and felt. And it’s only been a day but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how _entranced_ she was by it. I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t considering…”

Ingrid trailed off, and Dorothea was even more stupefied than before. It seemed an awful lot like Ingrid, the tomboyish, makeup-avoiding, one-of-the-lads, knightly Ingrid, was...was asking Dorothea to give her much the same treatment that she had given Mercedes. Like she was asking Dorothea to eat her ass.

For once, Dorothea’s surprise overwhelmed the satisfaction she usually found in such a request. Ingrid was sweet, and Dorothea had a soft spot for the unladylike girl, but she’d...wow, really?

“I...you’re sure, Ingrid? With me?” Dorothea couldn’t contain her confusion.

“Now, wait, I’m not...I don’t like you, not like that!” Ingrid stammered, face redder than a tomato by now, flustered and embarrassed. “Or not girls, I mean! You’re pretty, but this isn’t about that, it’s about…”

Ingrid chewed the inside of her cheek. “It’s about teaching and the experience of doing _that_ more than the...you know, the person, or the kind of person, I think?”

Ingrid didn’t sound convinced even of her own rhetoric. “C’mon, Dorothea. Don’t make me say it. Please?”

A part of Dorothea wanted so, so badly to tease her more, to play with this embarrassed, out-of-her-element young woman. But Ingrid was not Mercedes, and in all honesty, Dorothea couldn’t be cruel to her, even in jest. Maybe she was telling the truth and just articulating it poorly, or maybe she’d come to some other understanding, but it wasn’t Dorothea’s place to force her. Just to help her.

“Of course, Ingrid. Now, why don’t we get started?”

“What, here? Now?” Ingrid shrunk away, looking around as if the horses would judge her.

“Well, not _here_ , but I don’t see any reason to delay eating your ass.” Dorothea giggled as Ingrid looked away, trying to hide her deepening embarrassment. The familiar thrill was starting to be worked up once more, and with it came her certainty, and the confidence of being in command. “Your room, or mine?”

“Yours.” Ingrid blurted out. “Definitely yours.”

* * *

Few things were more beautiful than the sight of a butt offered up freely for Dorothea to enjoy, but there was a special thrill in seeing Ingrid bent over on the bed with her ass in the air. Her cheek was pressed against the pillow, her hands resting beneath the cushion to steady herself as she waited, naked and trembling.

Dorothea had wanted so badly to slip Ingrid out of her uniform, but the other woman had prefaced any attempts at contact right off the bat, and made her boundaries very, very clear. No affection, and certainly no kissing. All Ingrid wanted was for Dorothea to eat her ass, and then be given the chance to try out rimming on her own accord. Dorothea wouldn’t pretend that it didn’t blunt the mood to be told what was off-limits before getting the chance to _do_ anything, but she’d respect Ingrid’s limitations. Besides, it would have come up quickly, anyway, and Dorothea would have acquiesced then too. She wasn’t about to force herself on the girl.

Restrictions aside...Ingrid was still a marvel to look upon. Her thighs were thick and sinewy and her hips even wider than Dorothea’s, curving out into an appealing bow that, more than anything, drew Dorothea’s attention to the other woman’s ass. It had heft, and Dorothea could almost _see_ how firm it would be, in how Ingrid’s backside seemed to twitch as she awaited Dorothea’s touch. 

Dorothea didn’t mean to sound jealous, but Ingrid...well, Ingrid had a lovely butt, bigger than Dorothea’s, even, and accentuated by the exaggerated flare of her hips. Perhaps it was some consolation that Ingrid’s ass traded squishy curves for more rigid musculature, but that didn’t make it any less mouth-watering. How had Dorothea never noticed how gorgeous Ingrid’s ass was, and how strongly the widened dimensions of her hips brought it out? Dorothea supposed that all that training for horseback and pegasus riding really did pay dividends. Dorothea only wished that she’d spotted the hidden gem that was Ingrid’s muscled rear earlier in her time at Garreg Mach. If she had, she might have been able to be in this position weeks ago, perhaps.

Ingrid spread her legs, widening her stance. Her buttcheeks tensed, the lines of muscle seeming to ripple across the skin of her plump posterior before relaxing. With this new accessibility, Dorothea could get a better view of Ingrid’s womanhood, glistening and wet, somehow all the cuter for the ragged mismatched hair above her clit. Evidently, Ingrid had tried to shave her pubic hair, botched the job after getting halfway through, and tried to cover it up by letting it regrow, but it wasn’t coming back evenly yet. The mistake somehow made Ingrid seem all the more adorable.

“H-hurry up!” Ingrid protested, turning her head slightly away from the pillow and frowning nervously. “D-don’t back out now, come on!”

“My, Ingrid, if you’re _that_ excited, well, I can’t leave you waiting, can I?” Dorothea smiled. She’d stepped out of her own uniform, and licked her lips as her gaze drifted upward. To the clenching, puckered, impossibly tight-looking hole nestled between Ingrid’s asscheeks, winking and twitching as Ingrid’s legs wobbled and her rear tensed, waiting for Dorothea’s adoration, attention, and instruction.

Perhaps it was counterproductive to try to ‘teach’ Ingrid when the other woman wasn’t able to see what Dorothea would be doing to her bum, but Dorothea, frankly, was too invested in getting the chance to enjoy Ingrid’s ass from the perfect angle to really worry about that. Besides, the _real_ tutelage would start once Ingrid had her own mouth attending to Dorothea’s rear. This was just an indulgence, and a bit of preparation.

So thinking, Dorothea crawled onto the bed behind Ingrid, watching how her breasts swayed and hung, nipples brushing the sheets. Her tits were bigger than expected, but after Mercedes, and in comparison to Dorothea herself, nothing extravagant, albeit that was an impossible bar to clear and Ingrid’s chest was still adorable and not inconsiderable. The would-be-knight’s braid was draped over her shoulder, the end hanging down onto the sheet. Hm, that’d make for a good handhold...or a good harness and counterweight, maybe. But that was beyond her right now. Now, Dorothea was focused on reaching out her hands, fingers spread, to sink her grip into the firm, tense flesh of Ingrid’s backside.

The other woman clenched her jaw as Dorothea cooed, marveling at the unconscious resistance beneath her touch. Ingrid’s bum was as muscular as it looked, and Dorothea found no soft give or deep squishiness, or not much, anyway. But the power that pushed back against Dorothea’s attempts to grope Ingrid’s ass was lovely in itself, and she let her hands wander upwards. Dorothea’s palms rubbed against the skin until she was running the tips of her index fingers past the top of Ingrid’s asscheeks, tracing the dip and rise of the dimples on the small of her back and following the path of her hips and waist. Dorothea nodded approvingly, biting her lip as her hands took their time roaming, stroking, squeezing and grabbing, exploring the dimensions of Ingrid’s bum. For a moment, she could pretend this was the end-all of her interest, in feeling up such a beautifully muscular backside, but a huffing whine from Ingrid redirected her attention.

“Q-quite playing around! If you’re going to...if you’re going to do it, don’t keep me waiting!” There was an edge of panic at the margin of Ingrid’s voice. She tried to make it sound like a command, but Dorothea could tell that Ingrid was pleading. Begging. She _needed_ Dorothea to devour her derriere, even if she’d never say it so simply. 

Poor girl. Dorothea couldn’t torment her any longer. As much as she might want to just squeeze, smack, and fondle Ingrid’s bum, she wouldn’t be so cruel to someone who had put themselves in such a position for the sake of curiosity and neglected interest. 

“Of course, Ingrid. Now, my mouth is going to be occupied, but I trust you’ll be able to follow what I’m doing, hrm~?” Dorothea giggled as she dug her grip into Ingrid’s asscheeks as deep as she could, and then pulled her buttocks apart, exposing that all-important, twitching hole. Ingrid gasped at the separation, then squeaked as Dorothea leaned forward and gave a long, slow lick in a circle around that puckered opening. She dragged her tongue in a firm semicircle, flicking her tongue at the apex and nadir of Ingrid’s asshole, careful to move gently lest she overwhelm her. The last thing she wanted was to take Ingrid’s rimming virginity in a hurried, inconsiderate manner. No, if this was going to be Ingrid’s first time with a mouth on her butt, then Dorothea was going to make the experience _divine_. 

Still circling her tongue, Dorothea nudged forward a bit farther and drew her tongue towards the inner ring of Ingrid’s asshole, tightening the revolving motion to focus on the sensitive nerves right where the hole tightened and twitched. Ingrid shoved her face into the pillow, muffling a startled sob as her rear entrance clamped down on the perceived intrusion, but Dorothea hadn’t even started to try to move inward yet. She had to _relax_ Ingrid first, and for once, this merited words.

She leaned back, just enough to speak, withdrawing her tongue from Ingrid’s bum with some reluctance. “Ingrid, I’m going to need you to relax a little, please. I promise, it’ll be easier, and feel so much better, if you just...let a little of that tension go. Can you do that for me, Ingrid?”

Ingrid didn’t move her face from the cushion, but she replied in a muffled, half-coherent voice.

“Mkay.” It was quiet and stifled, but it was enough of an assent. As Dorothea watched, Ingrid’s breathing started to slow, and the frantic clenching of her asshole began to ease up. It was still twitching like mad, but now it could be followed.

“Good girl. Now, this might feel strange, okay?” Dorothea tried to sound calming. “Just give it a moment, and I assure you...well, you’ll see.” 

With that warning, Dorothea, still spreading Ingrid’s cheeks, moved back into position, and planted a soft, reassuringly tender kiss in a perfect circle around Ingrid’s back hole. The other woman cringed, but it wasn’t as powerfully as before, and it gave the opportunity for Dorothea to hum and coo, letting the vibrations from her mouth flutter throughout Ingrid’s rear. The buzz seemed to make something _click_ in Ingrid, who moaned and shuddered and dragged one of her hands out from under the pillow to clench a handful of the sheets, her thighs trembling. Dorothea knew she probably shouldn’t be singing to get Ingrid off with her ass, given how unrepresentative it was of the usual experience, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted Ingrid to feel as much as she could in this moment, before this first threshold was crossed forever.

So Dorothea hummed, singing softly, but the presence and pressure amplified the power of her voice, rendering a smaller sound into a more fulfilling wave that thrummed through Ingrid, tickling the nerves that Dorothea’s tongue had so tenderly swept over a moment before. Ingrid was raising her ass higher in the air, trying to give Dorothea better access, and moaning, squealing, and crying out in mewling tones that were smothered by how she kept her face stuffed in the pillow. Almost as if, by dampening the sounds, she might disguise her embarrassment at being so undone.

Alas, Dorothea, for all her mercy, would not let her pretend much longer. Parting her lips, she drifted off her singing with an ebbing tone, feeling Ingrid’s asshole relax as the buffeting of soundwaves eased off. Dorothea was so, so tempted to slide her tongue forward and in. It’d be only a moment...but she knew that that would be the trigger for Ingrid, with how sensitive she seemed. It’d have to be her _coup de grace_. Instead, she parted her lips and...not exactly bit, or nibbled, but more, well, full-on _mouthed_ Ingrid’s asshole. Dorothea dragged her lips and gave Ingrid half-kisses, half-bites, sucking and slurping with every movement, never digging in roughly. 

The combination of the nudging of her teeth, the warm sliding of her tongue, and the slippery suction of her lips was honestly more multifaceted stimulation than Dorothea had ever really brought to bear with her rimming, but this wasn’t really rimming anymore. It was a fuller experience, not merely encompassing her senses—though it encompassed those just fine, what with the tension, taste, sweat and the full round cheeks in her face—but requiring the ellison of focus and flow that made the movements both automatic and very, very conscious. Dorothea could keep it all going like she had it memorized, and still linger and revel in the coordinated sloppiness, the guided messiness, and the targeted pressure. Dorothea’s cheeks hollowed out whenever she sucked, her tongue pressed firmly and flatly on Ingrid’s asshole when she licked, and her jaw tingled when she prodded the sensitive skin with her lower teeth, a teasing threat that she might bite down more strongly if she so pleased.

Ingrid was absolutely losing her mind, knees wobbling, sobbing into the pillow, pussy oozing and dripping her arousal as Dorothea went further. The former songstress was genuinely surprised that Ingrid was lasting this long, even longer than Mercedes had, or Felix, but Ingrid was strong, and Felix, for all his speed and finesse, seemed particularly quick to shoot when it came to anal stimulation. All in all, Ingrid was impressive, and Dorothea knew that merited the appropriate reward.

So she gave it. With one more suck, slurp, and nibble, Dorothea suddenly withdrew mouth, and spread Ingrid’s cheeks even wider. The other woman groaned as the strain forced her asshole to widen, just a sliver, but it was enough. Darting forward, Dorothea nudged her tongue into Ingrid’s asshole, and immediately began a curling, thrashing, swirling motion, dragging and pressing her tongue on the inside of Ingrid’s inner anal ring. Dorothea suppressed a giggle at how swiftly Ingrid’s back entrance clamped down on her tongue, slamming shut as much as it could, trapping Dorothea’s muscle in a warm prison of an undulating butthole as Ingrid’s final release came to bear.

She yowled, and shoved her face into the pillow as if it might stop the sound from escaping her. It was a marvel that Ingrid was still able to breathe, with how much she’d been blocking her nose and mouth with the cushion, but breath she did. Hyperventilate, even, as her pussy spasmed in time with her quivering asshole, squirting messily onto Dorothea’s chin in a rolling, dragged-out peak, every pulse heralded and accompanied by a fresh pressure onto Dorothea’s tongue. 

As Ingrid came down from her shrieking climax, Dorothea smiled as much as she could with her tongue up Ingrid’s butt. This was good. Very, very good. Her hands took the chance to caress Ingrid’s backside while the other woman was distracted, still dazzled by _how much ass_ Ingrid was packing. Wow. Dorothea really needed to keep a better eye on the backsides of her fellow students, if a gem like this had avoided her notice…

Ingrid was still panting as her knees failed and her lower half started to collapse. Dorothea pulled her tongue out with a _pop_ as Ingrid’s hips fell down to the bedsheets, her tits pressing more full into the fabric as her face finally slipped free of the pillow. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, deep red, her forehead coated in sweat, bangs ruffled, shoulders trembling. All together, Ingrid looked like a mess, and her half-dazed expression suggested that she was still not quite all back there, either.

Finally, she gasped, and spoke in a halting, unsteady tone. “That…” Ingrid whimpered, trailing off, lucidity returning to her eyes as she turned over onto her back, belly heaving with her gulps of air. 

“Amazing, right?” Dorothea giggled. “That took me a _lot_ of practice, let me tell you. But now...don’t you think it’s your turn?”

“...My turn? You mean…” Ingrid blinked, and if possible, she seemed somehow even _more_ flustered, despite having just gotten rimmed by an ass-eating maestro. 

“Yup! You wanted to learn, and I gave you a demonstration of how a _master_ can make you squirm. Now it’s time to get you started on your illustrious new vocation.” Dorothea chuckled. “Don’t worry, this won’t get in the way of your knightly ambitions. Consider it an...elective course.”

“I…” Ingrid bit the inside of her cheek, some approximation of rational thinking finally returning to her. “...All right, fine, Dorothea, just...just don’t expect that kind of performance out of me.”

“Of course, Ingrid! That’d be unreasonable, and when have I been anything _other_ than reasonable?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Dorothea pouted. “Oh, fine. Now scoot over, and get to the bottom of the bed. I’m going to lay on my back, so I can keep an eye on your progress.”

Ingrid nodded awkwardly and shuffled to the side, then took Dorothea’s place, resting on her belly with her knees bent and her shins in the air, trying to let the blood flow back into them. Dorothea rested her head on the pillow Ingrid had been shoving her face into—after making a big show of sniffing in Ingrid’s sweat on the fabric and smiling at the way Ingrid averted her eyes at the gesture—and bent her knees, lifting her hips by pressing her feet into the bed to better expose her butthole as a target to be gobbled up. Looking down between her tits, past her belly and the brown, smooth hair crowning her crotch, Dorothea gave Ingrid a wink and stuck her tongue out.

“There we go, all set. Now, usually, you want something small and affectionate to start, to ease them into it. A gesture they’re familiar with.” Dorothea blew a kiss down at Ingrid, who was trying really, really hard to look at anything _but_ Dorothea’s face and winking asshole. “Give me a kiss, Ingrid. Right on my asshole, to get us going.”

“I’m...I’m not going to kiss you, Dorothea.” Ingrid frowned, clenching her jaw. 

“Come again?” Dorothea raised an eyebrow.

“You heard me. I’m not kissing you, Dorothea. I said I wouldn’t.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ingrid, I don’t think this is the same thing. Haven’t I followed your rules so far?”

“Yes, barely.” Ingrid’s brow furrowed. “But that doesn’t change this. I’m not giving you a kiss. Not anywhere.”

“Ingrid, that’s not fair, it’s just a kiss…”

“Dorothea.” Ingrid said more firmly. Her tone was still wavering, still reeling from before, but there was a hint of certainty, of the confidence that she channeled when confronting Sylvain. “It’s not _just_ a kiss. And besides, I’m saving my kiss for...whoever earns it. And I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Saving your…” Dorothea couldn’t stop the guffaw from escaping her lips. “Oh, Ingrid, you really _are_ something special, you know that?”

“Hmph. Just tell me what to do. What _else_ to do.”

“Okay, okay.” Dorothea was struggling not to laugh. Of course Ingrid, devotedly chivalric Ingrid, would refuse to kiss to someone she didn’t want to envision a future with. Even on their asshole. The commitment to her ideals was both impressive and deeply, truly hilarious. Didn't that mean that Ingrid hadn’t ever kissed or given a kiss?

...Well, maybe not, knowing Ingrid, but it still amused Dorothea to consider it. To hold in her head the knowledge that, perhaps, the first time Ingrid had been given the chance to kiss someone had been on their backside, and specifically on Dorothea’s own puckered, tight, twitching and oversensitive rear hole. Really, it was too funny to not find endlessly amusing, but Dorothea managed to restrain herself. Nothing would kill the mood faster than a laughing spree.

“Okay, fair enough. Ingrid, then just...circle your tongue around my asshole, the outer part, and move inward as you go-oooo~!”

Dorothea yelped in genuine surprise as Ingrid, emboldened by Dorothea’s half-mocking mirth, found the confidence to surge forward, tongue extended. The blonde’s sudden strength, born in part from frustration, and in part from her bullishly headstrong approach to new challenges, was manifested in the way her tongue smacked wetly against the top of Dorothea’s asshole. Ingrid curled her nose, surprised at both herself and the sharply new taste of an immaculate butthole, but she didn’t stop. Clumsily, she dragged her tongue down Dorothea’s rear entrance—straight down, not in a circle—drawing a little moan from Dorothea.

“N-n-not q-quite, Ingrid!” Dorothea hissed. It took a lot to distract her, but Ingrid’s surge of energy had thrown Dorothea off her game. “C-ircle it! L-like you’re li-licking i-ice cream!” 

“Whm?” Ingrid tilted her head to the side, tongue still out, staring quizzically. 

“Sorry, remembering Mercedes, just..just circle it, like I did, nice and sloooooow~!”

Ingrid, either out of impatience, overeager exuberance, or a desire to get back at Dorothea, did not circle her tongue slowly. She still didn’t properly circle it at all. Instead, she wriggled and swirled her tongue in a vaguely oval-shaped series of movements, hitting more of the same sensitive spots around Dorothea’s asshole that a clean circular sweep with her tongue would have got. This sloppier alternative, though, got Ingrid dangerously close to pushing her tongue directly into Dorothea’s rear right off the bat, which she wouldn’t necessarily have minded, but certainly would imprint negatively on Ingrid’s butt-munching habits.

Dorothea took a deep breath. She needed to focus. She had a student, a new addition to the academy of ass-eating, and she couldn’t let Ingrid down. She needed to be patient, and appropriately direct her pupil.

“More circular, Ingrid.” Dorothea said, a bit more controlled, and a bit calmer. “Make sure the top and bottom of your tongue hits your upper and lower teeth. That’s how you know it’s a wide enough circle.”

Dorothea bit her lip as Ingrid followed her guidance, after a bit more tongue-wrangling and stumbling. Ingrid’s tongue was warm, wet, and soft, and Dorothea’s asshole clenched and tingled in the wake of its licking. “Good, mmf. That’s good, Ingrid. Now...move the circling inside, until you’re barely touching the rim, and then slowly...slip it in.”

“Awedy?” Ingrid asked, blinking in surprise.

“Yep. If you’re not going to kiss my ass, our options are limited. Not much we can do with the mouth, without it counting as a kiss, so...slurp up, Ingrid, like the ass-eater I know you can be. Unf.” The last grunt was a little reaction to Ingrid following Dorothea’s instructions, shortening the circle with smaller rotations, nudging nerves that hadn’t been stimulated since…

...Well, since Mercedes had devoured Dorothea’s derriere yesterday, but still. Ingrid was off to a good start, already giving Dorothea little pinpricks of pleasure with her movements, twinging and moistening, triggering minute stimulations with every movement.

And then Ingrid slipped her tongue inside. Dorothea hissed in pleasure at the wet, soft muscle spreading her back entrance, tickling the inside of her assole. Without prompting, Ingrid kept up the circling motion, swirling and swiveling her tongue with dedication along the inner rim of Dorothea’s anal ring, her nose pressed against the bottom of Dorothea’s pussy, leaving the slit untouched. Every movement prompted tiny sparks up from that all-importantly sensitive hole, earning twitches from Dorothea’s fingers, quivering in her limbs, and a deeper warmth that was starting to find purchase in her core. It was faint, but Dorothea knew that that heat, when fanned with enough time, energy, and anal stimulation, would blossom into marvelous, miraculous orgasm. She just needed to urge it along.

“Yes, good, Ingrid. Very good, now, dig your tongue in deeper, _really_ reach in there, You don’t have to kiss my asshole, but stick your tongue as far as you can, and then...curl, upwards, and drag it back.” Dorothea cooed, shifting her legs so that she was extending her knees outwards, rather than upwards. “Right on the upper part, that’s _very_ sensitive, and it’s sure to...oh~!”

Dorothea squealed softly as Ingrid followed her directions, closing her eyes to focus as she pressed her lips tightly together—still trying to avoid that kiss—with her tongue still out and inside Dorothea’s rear. Hooking the tip, Ingrid pressed the top of her tongue along the top side of Dorothea’s tunnel. Not quite the sharper, pointed drag of the very tip, but close, and still lovely: Dorothea’s knees wobbled at the wet, warm pressure being pushed flatly against her, and then nudged backwards.

“Oh, Ingrid.” Dorothea crooned. It would be so, so easy to reach forward and stroke Ingrid’s cheeks, or grab her hair and force her face to stay flush against Dorothea’s butt. But she’d promised that she wouldn’t. “You’re such a good girl, _mmmm_ , that’s it…”

Saying that was probably against the rules too, but Ingrid was too busy slurping and licking the inside of Dorothea’s asshole to protest. Without prompting, Ingrid slapped her tongue against the top of the tunnel, then pumped it forward and back along the sensitive tissue just inside Dorothea’s anal ring, swirling it in a circular, corkscrewing motion. Dorothea gaped, eyes widening, asshole clenching suddenly down on Ingrid’s tongue, gasping and grabbing the sheets as she found herself subjected to an unexpected barrage of pressure and slick pleasure. The twirling, tangled, tickling sensation was making her core tighten and burn warmer, accompanied by a delightfully naughty _schlick-shlick-schlick_ with every twinge of Ingrid’s tongue. Ingrid kept going faster, furiously bobbing her head in time with the height and dip of her whirlpool of slurps and slathering adoration, prompting more groans and hums of dull, deep-seated gratification from Dorothea. Dorothea was, for once, flabbergasted, and took joy in the confusion. She hadn’t expected _Ingrid_ , of all people, to pick up on this so quickly. Well, Ingrid was more substituting raw energy and fervor for grace and technique, but that was an art all its own, and now, she was…

“Oooooh, Ingrid, I’m... _mmfff_ , right there, right theeeere~!” Dorothea crooned, throwing her head back and moaning in bliss as it became too much. Her asshole clamped down on Ingrid’s tongue, her back arched off of the bed, her knees wobbled and she stood her feet on her toes as her fingers dug into the beds and she came with a singsong cry. Dorothea, brought to the brink by Ingrid’s hurried, intense rimming, found her peak. Her senses dulled to focus on the point of pleasure in her core and crotch, a rush that manifested in pussy clenching and tensing in time with the undulation of her butthole around Ingrid’s tongue. The poor girl winced at the grip and tug on her tongue, unable to pull free, but too determined to keep up her motions to stop.

Ingrid kept slurping and slavering with her tongue, as if uncertain that Dorothea was finished. It wasn’t until Dorothea spoke with a somewhat tired voice that Ingrid finally slowed.

“Well done...oh, well done, Ingrid. You’re going to get _very_ good at this…”

“Shnks.” Ingrid mumbled in gratitude, perhaps sarcastically, as she withdrew her tongue with a pop and winced. Her jaw must have been sore, and her tongue must have been terribly numb, but she gulped down her discomfort and opened and closed her mouth, trying to regain sensation. 

Dorothea beamed down at her proudly. No doubt about it. Ingrid was going to become marvelous at making meals out of her partner’s backsides. Dorothea had moaned in equal parts pleasure at Ingrid’s tonguing of the inside of her asshole, and pride at the promised progress of her newest pupil. One had made her orgasm, and the other gave her incredible fulfillment at being able to spread the good word of the joys of rimming.


	4. Escalation and Eavesdropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After enjoying and being enjoyed by Mercedes, Dorothea instructed Ingrid in the fine art of ass-eating. But she's soon to discover that Ingrid is going to take this farther than Dorothea had expected...even if she doesn't mind watching, and playing her part in the ride.
> 
> (Ingrid/Sylvain, rimming, Dorothea voyeurism)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the proper chronology now. Also, there won't be another chapter of this for a while.
> 
> All characters are over 18, etc.
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke).

The wind running through the monastery grounds was crisp and cool, rustling leaves and tickling skin. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the sunlight shone down with a pleasant, calm warmth, rather than an excessively baking heat. In short it was a perfect early summer’s day, and Dorothea’s mind was nowhere near focused on it.

She was still turning over the events of the last few days, and the weeks before, in her head. At how quickly this had all escalated. It wasn’t out of control, not yet, but Dorothea couldn’t ditch the nagging worries that she’d started something that could go terribly wrong. The last thing she wanted was to get expelled, even if she did have the Professor on her side. Though that might put her  _ more _ at risk than anything else: Given that Lady Rhea seemed to think highly of him, dallying further might incur the wrath of the archbishop. 

But Dorothea couldn’t resist, and besides, they were all adults here. She had to trust that her instincts would serve her well, as they always had, and that she was not setting herself up for failure. So she was having fun: What was the harm? She wasn’t derailing the Black Eagles, and the students were encouraged to interact with the members of other houses. She wasn’t breaking any rules, as far as she knew, just some social conventions, and discreetly at that. It had been reassuring, at least, to take the chance to speak with Mercedes to ask the other woman to be more conscious and considerate about who she talked to about her dalliance with Dorothea. Mercedes had apologized profusely, agreed, and promised to be more careful. They’d made up, made out, and feasted on each other’s asses one more time, to the sighing, squealing delight of them both.

Dorothea smiled at the memory, closing her eyes and sighing to take in the sweet briskness of the breeze. Still, even if she tried to push her deeper worries aside, less severe concerns arose in her mind. Would Petra actually take to eating ass in the way Dorothea hoped, or had she been too severe or sudden with the Brigid princess? As far as Dorothea could tell, Petra hadn’t rimmed anyone in the...what was it now, three weeks since that first lesson? Perhaps she should check up on the other girl, or try to find her someone to feast on. Petra was shy enough that she probably wouldn’t approach even the Professor, whose butt she’d already rimmed, on her own, but maybe she just wanted someone else instead. Perhaps Dorothea should offer herself as another person with which Petra could practice. The idea was...interesting, in a curious way.

On that note, what about Ingrid? Dorothea was even less certain as to what was going on there. Ingrid had seemed somewhat uncomfortable with Dorothea’s presence, even if she had welcomed the instruction and had found pleasure in both the giving and receiving of the act of ass-eating. Yet there was a conflict there that Dorothea couldn’t quite place. She doubted it was something as simple as Ingrid repressing any feelings she held deeper in her heart—though in the unlikely event that this was indeed the case then Dorothea would have her work cut out for her resolving it—but there was something about Ingrid that she just...needed to investigate more. To figure out, one way or another.

Plus, it was cute to see such a vibrant, strong, protective woman turn into a shy mess when it came to ass-eating. Dorothea needed to see where Ingrid moved on this path, however it ended.

Perhaps that unconscious impulse was what directed her steps to the stables once again as her mind wandered. Once she snapped back to reality and stopped being lost in thought, Dorothea was tempted to turn right back around and stride off: The stables weren’t really smelling any better than they had been when she’d been there with Ingrid before, however briefly. In the half-second that she hesitated, though, Dorothea heard something in the outer periphery of her hearing. A mutter, or perhaps a louder voice, muffled by distance, wind, and barriers.

She glanced over the stables. Like before, they were empty, aside from some steeds tethered near the walls, the grooms out to lunch. Dorothea looked again—nope, no people here—and almost dismissed it as her imagination before she heard it again. More sharply this time, and recognizable too. A cry of exasperation.

There. One of the stablehouse doors was slightly ajar, the window open just enough to sway with the breeze. The voice was coming from there, stifled by the wooden boards.

Dorothea could have walked away, but she was just too curious, and a part of her had to wonder, maybe...well, it  _ could _ be Ingrid, but…

Glancing around to make sure nobody was looking, Dorothea stepped forward, towards the open space, and then again, moving closer slowly, lest the wind died down and the crunching of dirt beneath her feet became audible. 

“...is it going to take for you to take anything seriously?”

“I am, okay?”

“Then why aren’t you showing it?” 

Okay, that was  _ definitely _ Ingrid, and she was speaking with...that was Sylvain, right? Dorothea wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she recognized that smooth tone of voice, even as he spoke lower to try to calm Ingrid down. 

Again, Dorothea was tempted to leave. She knew Sylvain and Ingrid were longtime friends, and for all her love of gossip, intruding on a conversation like this felt a degree  _ too _ invasive to be fun. Better to let them work out whatever was going on, rather than risk involving herself.

But once more, Dorothea stopped herself. There was something in Ingrid’s tone that gave her pause, and that hesitation was enough for her curiosity to take back over. She’d just take a quick look, to make sure Ingrid was all right, and then dart away and leave them to their own business.

“Do you want me to be more like Felix? Straight-laced all the time, no fun allowed?” He scoffed derisively.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Dorothea could hear Ingrid sigh. “You’re deflecting. I’m not comparing you to Felix. I’m talking about  _ you _ .”

“Okay, well, it didn’t  _ sound _ like that.”

“ _ Sylvain _ . I’m trying to have an adult conversation with you. Can you hold off on the jokes for two minutes so we can talk before the stables get crowded again? I brought you here so I wouldn’t embarrass you like before in the dining hall.”

Dorothea was even closer now, enough that she elected to lean against the wooden wall of the stable in case either of them was close to the door, and able to spot someone approaching more to the center of the dirt path. Just a few more steps, and…

“Okay, okay, Ingrid, I promise.” As Dorothea counted to three, and then tilted her head very slightly past the corner of the stable window, she saw Sylvain raise his hands in a placating gesture. He was facing the window, but too focused on Ingrid to notice the peeking visage of Dorothea a few feet away. “I’ll take this conversation seriously.”

“I’m just worried. About you being reckless, on the battlefield, and...well, in general. Lack of caution doesn’t just have physical consequences, you know.” Ingrid sounded quieter for a half-second, reaching a hand up to rub her shoulder with uncertainty. “You know what happened to Glenn.”

“I know.” Sylvain’s voice was unexpectedly calm, almost soothing, and Dorothea could see the challenged, cornered look in his eyes soften into something resembling empathy. From Sylvain? Huh, he really was a different person around his childhood friends. “You don’t have to repeat it, Ingrid. I know it hurts.”

“I don’t want to make this about me, Sylvain. I’m concerned for you, for your sake. Felix is, too, in his own way, he just doesn’t show it like everyone else does.”

“You mean he shows his affection by being a surly, toxic, cold jerk? Huh, I guess he still likes me after all.” Sylvain tried to chuckle. The sound died off when Ingrid tapped her foot. Dorothea couldn’t see the other woman’s face, but she presumed the blonde was frowning. “Right, sorry, no jokes. But I can take care of myself, Ingrid.”

“Can you? I’m not so sure.”

“I’m trying.” Sylvain was smiling disarmingly, but there was an edge to his grin that Dorothea recognized. He was frustrated, or angry. 

“Are you? You promised you’d consider your actions more before you’d carry them out, and that you’d stop acting so nonchalant about getting hurt or killed.” Ingrid paused, and Dorothea held in her mind the image of the other woman chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Am I not? That conversation was last week. You can’t expect me to change so quickly. That’s not fair.” Sylvain frowned slightly, a tiny slip in his facade of geniality. Dorothea was getting the sense that he was getting fed up with this conversation, but he was almost as good as she was at faking a smile. “Why are you taking it upon yourself to change me, anyway? I promised I’d try, but that doesn’t mean you have to hover over me while it happens.”

“Stop trying to make this about me. I really  _ want _ to believe that you’re making progress, and don’t need me to check on you. I just feel like I need something from you that convinces me that you know how important this is.”

“Is my promise not enough?”

Ingrid was silent for a long moment. Sylvain frowned, deeply and without disguise now, and opened his mouth, perhaps to lash out, to vent his fury at what he might see as Ingrid’s nagging. At the last second, he hesitated, and Dorothea supposed that he saw something in Ingrid’s face that stopped him. The anger deflated, and he merely sighed unhappily, eyebrows furrowed.

“That hurts, Ingrid. That you don’t trust me.”

“Stop— ”

“You can stop saying that I’m ‘making it about you.’ There’s something I want to say.” Sylvain shook his head. “Maybe I can’t change, but I need the opportunity to try, and it’s going to take longer than a week, or a month, or however long, for that to happen, and when it does, it’ll be a little at a time. I want to believe you think your advice will really help, but you need to give me a chance. You need to trust me to do my best.”

Ingrid paused again. “Do you trust  _ me _ ?”

“You’re my friend. Of  _ course _ I trust you.” Sylvain smiled, and Dorothea could see that it was genuine by the warmth that shined in his eyes. 

“I…” Ingrid’s expression must have communicated her contemplation, because Sylvain’s smile momentarily flickered.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“No, I believe you, and you’re right.” Ingrid clasped her hands and fiddled with her thumbs. “I  _ do _ trust you, or I should.”

“Okay, good, then, we’re good?” Sylvain said hopefully.

“Yeah, we’re good. For that, at least.”

“So, uh, see you later, then?” Sylvain started to edge towards the stable door, and Dorothea momentarily panicked: If he darted off, there’d be no way that she’d get out of sight before he got out. Fortunately, Ingrid raised a hand, and he stopped moving.

“Just a minute. I trust you. That’s why I’m trusting that you’ll keep this between us?”

“Isn’t that why you dragged me out here in the middle of the day?” Sylvain chuckled, feeling freed to laugh his way through awkwardness once more. “To keep it discreet, spare me a bit of embarrassment?

“Yes, but I’m also asking that you’ll keep  _ this _ between the two of us.”

“Um, you just said that.” He chuckled a second time, more awkwardly, sounding confused.

“No I mean what happens, um, next.” 

Dorothea cringed. She could  _ feel _ the flinching in Ingrid’s face from here, and hear the stumbling in the other woman’s tone. Not the smoothest transition.

“I trust you, and I want you to trust me, and take what I’m about to do seriously.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Sylvain tilted his head to the side. “And why are you...are you blushing?”

“Come here, Sylvain.” Ingrid snapped suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Sylvain by the shoulders. He blinked, and looked like he was about to protest, but held his tongue, and let Ingrid maneuver him closer to the wall perpendicular to Dorothea. The former songstress held her breath, and slowly inched to the left, to look at them in profile as Sylvain’s back was pushed against the wooden wall.

“Uh, what are you...”

“No jokes, Sylvain. I don’t want to change my mind, and I...just, let me have this, okay?” Now that Dorothea could see the side of Ingrid’s face, she could tell that the would-be-lady-knight was, in fact, blushing, face slightly red, lips pressed together. It was the same look that...oh.

Dorothea would have squealed in delight, or pride, if it didn’t give away her position. Ingrid was really...oh, that girl had a naughty streak, wider than her hips. To do that, here, after only trying once, with one of her oldest friends? If nothing else, Dorothea couldn’t call Ingrid anything but bold. 

“Ingrid, I...wait, are you really sure about this?” Sylvain paused, and for once, he looked genuinely nervous. Ingrid’s hands were still on his shoulders, and she stood there for a moment, as if to make sure that, yes, she wanted to do this.

Only her idea of “this” was going to be very, very different from Sylvain’s.

“Sylvain, I’m being serious. Please take this seriously, too.” Ingrid said, firmly but evenly. “I want this. Don’t you?”

“I...of course, but now? Really?” Sylvain gulped again, and Dorothea could see his eyes darting, trying to keep contact with Ingrid’s and failing. Instead they flicked up and down, uncertainly. Dorothea knew he had to be very suddenly seeing Ingrid in an entirely new context, and the dichotomy between his usual self-certainty and the sudden apprehension that had come over him was genuinely adorable. Who knew it just took Ingrid, the girl who’d been by his side all along, but that he’d never noticed, to reduce this serial philanderer and flirt to mumbling, flustered attraction? How sweet!

“Yes, now. That’s a yes, then…?” Ingrid chewed the inside of her cheek, quirking her eyebrow at an awkward, questioning angle. Dorothea grinned. The gesture was anything but sultry, and yet Dorothea knew the clumsier execution was part of Ingrid’s charm.

“Y-yeah.” Sylvain bit his lower lip, looking equal parts nervous, confused, and excited. “Yeah, that’s a yes. Yeah.”

“Good.” Ingrid shifted her shoulders and loosened her grip on his own. Sylvain puckered his lips in anticipation of a kiss, but Ingrid did not lean forward to meet his mouth, so he kept his mouth scrunched, expecting her to move and meet him...but she didn’t.

It was terribly awkward, and it took all of Dorothea’s self-control to not giggle at the ridiculousness of what was happening right in front of her, until Sylvain finally gave up and let his mouth relax in time for Ingrid to speak.

“Turn around.” She requested, pushing gently on his shoulders in the service of furthering her own purpose. He tilted an eyebrow curiously, but acquiesced, and slowly flipped until he was facing the stable wall. On instinct, he leaned forward slightly and rested his hands on the wood, prompting an approving nod from Ingrid.

“I was about to ask you to do that, good.” 

“I’m, um, not sure where you’re going with thi—hrk!” Sylvain’s query was cut off as Ingrid stepped up to him, covered chest flush against his back, and dipped her head forward. Dorothea gaped as Ingrid gave Sylvain a bold, quick bite on the earlobe, earning a surprised yelp from the redhead. “H-hey, warn me next time!”

“Sorry!” Ingrid recoiled, as if surprised at her own boldness and impulse, still pressed firmly against Sylvain. “I just...wanted to do that.”

“It didn’t  _ hurt _ , but just give me a heads-up, okay?” Sylvain chuckled, trying to re-establish the suave, smooth command that he seemed normally able to exert so effortlessly. “Felt pretty good, actually, just surprised me.”

“All...all right. Let me do that again, then.” Ingrid murmured, then leaned forward to nibble more cautiously on the corner of Sylvain’s ear. He groaned, shuddering slightly and leaning his lower back closer to Ingrid as she dragged her teeth against the lobe. He muttered something under his breath, too quietly for even Dorothea to hear, but Ingrid’s face looked all the redder for it. Probably profanity, then.

Ingrid kept working Sylvain’s ear, nipping and licking the ticklish skin, as he clenched his teeth, moaned, and hissed in alternating rhythms. Dorothea would have been surprised by the degree of his reaction if she hadn’t had first-hand experience on how well Ingrid could manipulate her tongue, and if Sylvain’s ears were particularly sensitive, then she wasn’t terribly surprised that he seemed to be enjoying it so much. His hands were balled tightly into fists, and he lifted his left leg to rest his foot on the box that had been left on the hay between his shins and the wall. 

Sylvain’s face was flushed pink, a softer color than the darker crimson budding up beneath Ingrid’s cheeks, and his eyes were scrunched tight as Ingrid lapped away and nibbled at his earlobe. Dorothea pressed her palm into her mouth to suppress a giggle. If he was getting so worked up over Ingrid’s tongue on his ear, well...he’d get utterly  _ destroyed _ by Ingrid’s true talents.

“Sylvain?” Ingrid finally set, separating her teeth from his earlobe, finally.

“Y-yeah?” Sylvain panted, A droplet of sweat was rolling down the bridge of his nose.

“I’m...I’m going to try something, okay? But I need you to trust me.”

“I...you know I already do, Ingrid.” Sylvain squirmed, rubbing back against her. “But yeah, go right ahead. I’m with you all the way.”

“Thanks.” Ingrid smiled nervously, then leaned back, just enough to put some distance between her chest and his back. Dorothea recognized what she was about to do, and sure enough, Ingrid moved her hands from Sylvain’s shoulders as she started to lower herself to her knees, dragging her hands along his sides as she went...and stopping at his waist. Her fingers hooked onto the front of the waist of his pants, under the outershirt of his uniform, and tugged. There was a hitch of resistance, a grunt of discomfort from Sylvain, and then they were down, cascading towards his ankles, with his fabric undershorts still clinging to his crotch and rear.

Ingrid fumbled, trying to find a place to grab onto without brushing her hands over Sylvain’s covered length or backside—an irony that was not lost on Dorothea, given what was about to happen, and apparently was not lost on Sylvain either, as he laughed nervously at Ingrid’s clumsy fingers. Which made her blush all the more fiercely, lips trembling, nose quivering as she finally, mercifully, found purchase enough to pull Sylvain’s underclothes down. 

Here was the moment of truth. Dorothea knew that this would decide the direction of how the rest of this went. How the two of them saw each other for maybe the rest of their lives. If Ingrid relented, or Sylvain didn’t comply, then this would be nipped in the bud, but if it went through...Well, this would be grand indeed.

“Sylvain.” Ingrid said, stumbling over her words slightly, face burning with embarrassment and eagerness. 

“Ingrid?” He asked. “Everything okay down there?”

“Hey, I asked you to be serious!”

“Sorry! Sorry. I am. I’m taking this seriously. What’s up?”

“I...just…” Ingrid took a deep breath, straightened her back, and spoke with unsteady confidence. “I’m going to need you to relax a little, please. I promise, it’ll be easier, and feel so much better, if you just...let a little of that tension go. Can you do that for me, Sylvain?”

Dorothea stiffened. That was...that was the exact same line she had used to get Ingrid to relax when she had been about to devour the blonde’s butt. And now she was repeating it back with Sylvain.

Oh, clever girl. Dorothea couldn’t be prouder.

“Um, all right.” Sylvain assented, still confused. Ingrid sighed happily, even as some sense of mismatched shame still seemed to hang over her, and replied with a mixture of relief and premature apology.

“Thanks for this.”

“Hey, I should be thanking you—!” Sylvain grunted as Ingrid rushed her hands forward, grabbing Sylvain’s asscheeks in her grip, pulling back slightly so he was forced to jut his butt out farther. He was still reeling when Ingrid dug her fingers into the firm flesh of his backside and widened her hold to spread his buttocks. From this angle, with Sylvain’s left leg elevated, Dorothea could see everything: How his dick was jutting out forward, pointing towards the wall; how his balls were swaying and tense between his thighs; and how his asshole winked, twitched, puckered and tensed, suddenly exposed and suddenly strained from the force being exerted away from it on both sides.

Ingrid’s face was so red that Dorothea was starting to worry that the poor girl was going to faint. She was biting her lip, staring hungrily at Sylvain’s butthole, holding him there for one heartbeat, and then another. He was ram-rod stiff, frightened to move, maybe, or just waiting for what happened next...but he wasn’t freaking out or retreating. Dorothea hoped Ingrid would see that for the good sign that it was.

And, bless her clumsy, romantically blind, tomboyish heart, Ingrid did. Or maybe she just lost her self-control. But whatever the reason, after that frozen moment of stillness and then another, Ingrid took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and leaned forward to plant a dainty, tender kiss right in between Sylvain’s buttcheeks, directly on his asshole. He groaned, bending his face forward to brush his red hair against the wood, as Ingrid held the kiss on his backside, lips pressed flush against his rear, her breath whistling from her nostrils onto the skin above her back entrance. Ingrid’s eyelids were fluttering as she kept herself in place, holding herself close, as if fearful to ever let go and break the contact. Sylvain trembled, eyes shut tight to better focus on what was happening behind him, or rather, to his behind.

Dorothea’s mouth fell agape as clarity came upon her. Ingrid had...Ingrid had insisted, very adamantly and thoroughly, that she would not kiss Dorothea’s asshole. That she was saving it for someone who had earned it. Dorothea had assumed that Ingrid had meant it conventionally, that she wouldn’t kiss a butt until she’d kissed lips, but no, Ingrid really  _ had _ been savoring the chance to kiss a backside. Just not Dorothea’s. The former songstress didn’t know if this was Ingrid’s first kiss  _ ever _ , but she had her suspicions, and whatever the truth...the idea that Ingrid’s very first kiss wasn’t on her partner’s lips, or even their face, but their asshole, and that it was  _ Sylvain’s _ asshole…

That was  _ really fucking hot _ .

Dorothea let out a tiny moan, then bit her tongue to stifle the sound, grateful that Ingrid was too focused, and Sylvain too busy losing his mind, to hear her. That had been close, and yet...Dorothea was suddenly finding herself growing warmer, tenser, as she stood here peeking out above the stable doorway. 

Ingrid finally started moving as much as her kneel permitted, rocking her face back slightly and then forward again, kissing Sylvain’s butthole delicately every time she shifted back forward. Whenever she pressed her lips against his back entrance—Dorothea’s view was somewhat obscured, but the sound of wet lips meeting a tense, stretched hole was unmistakable—Sylvain grunted and shook, his elevated leg trembling. His cock bobbed, and his balls swayed with the momentum of Ingrid nudging so close by, while one of his hands unclenched to drag his nails against the wood. 

Ingrid was kissing Sylvain’s asshole with more sweet, tender affection than Dorothea had  _ ever _ seen her express anywhere or to anyone else. Honestly, Ingrid was kissing Sylvain’s butt with more intimacy than most couples Dorothea had witnessed, period.

The thought sent a thrum up Dorothea’s spine, a clenching between her thighs, and a twinge, centered right on her own asshole, covered by two layers of panties and skirt.

She risked a glance to either side. The sun was still at its zenith in the sky: Not yet much past noon. Still nobody in sight. And this view was...engagingly exciting. Ingrid wouldn’t mind, right? Well, probably, but that was to be dealt with later. This was an issue for  _ now _ .

Carefully, Dorothea reached a hand backwards, still facing the other two. Sure, she could dip her fingers between her legs and seek her release there, but the gravity and energy of the moment, combined with Dorothea’s own preferences, called for a different avenue of eliciting pleasure. Hence why she gently flipped her skirt up, pinning it to her back with her wrist, and slipped her index and middle finger between her waist and her black panties. Rather than brushing against her clit and pushing into her slit, Dorothea’s digits instead nudged her back hole, pressed together as they rubbed the puckered entrance in a tight circle, then pushed on and off, trying to mimic the pace with which Ingrid was delivering kisses to Sylvain’s asshole.

It was...Dorothea had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle another moan. It was  _ magnificent _ . Dorothea’s hunger for anal stimulation meant that it really didn’t take much back there to get her going when she wanted to get off hard and fast, and watching Ingrid make out with Sylvain’s asshole and fingering her own butt in sync was getting her riled up with more alacrity than she was used to. Depending on how much Ingrid dragged this out...Dorothea might not hold out as long as she could. In that light, she elected that intensity overshadowed the merits of edging, and, rather than circling and pressing onto her asshole when Ingrid next kissed Sylvain’s, Dorothea pressed both her index and middle finger into the center. There was a pause and a moment of restrained pressure, and then both sunk in, giving her the space to curl, wriggle, and pump her digits in and around the inside of her oversensitive butt, following Ingrid’s pace.

Ingrid was speeding up now, the sweet softness of her pecking kisses starting to hasten, to get a little rawer and a little rougher. The smacking noises emanating from between Sylvain’s buttcheeks as Ingrid smooched his asshole were wetter, echoed farther, and louder to the point that Dorothea recognized that Ingrid was no longer intimately kissing his backside. She was making out with his ass, sloppily pressing her lips against Sylvain’s back entrance with hungrier, more desperate motions, even though her face wasn’t any less afire with the heat of her flustered, blushing cheeks. Somehow, Ingrid was still embarrassed, still feeling awkward about all of this, and yet found the strength, determination, and drive to devour Sylvain’s butt.

Perhaps that wasn’t accurate: Ingrid was still kissing, just in a meatier, wetter, more aggressive manner. Sylvain looked like he was absolutely losing his mind, beating his fists against the wood, clawing at it, limbs trembling, elevated leg wobbling unsteadily. He panted and grunted, groaned and swore, dripping sweat from his forehead and chin as Ingrid wrapped her arms around his waist from behind to pull herself deeper into making out with his butt. Ingrid’s eyes were no longer fluttering: Now, she had them closed in concentration, focusing her mind on smooching Sylvain’s backside, embracing him wholeheartedly push herself into this increasingly energetic lip-smacking, asshole-stimulating anal makeout session.

Dorothea hissed under her breath, rolling her wrist to speed up the circling of her fingers inside her asshole. Seeing Ingrid go this far, seeing Sylvain get driven this wild, all with just one act—the simple kiss, but explored and made use of with imagination that impressed even Dorothea, queen of anal that she was—it was going to quickly prove to be more than Dorothea could take in her addled state. The rubbing, warming, dragging pleasure on the inside of her anal ring was buttressed and sharpened by the voyeuristic thrill, the risk of exposure, and the pride of watching Ingrid practice this art so masterfully on a man she’d been friends with most of her life.

Clearly, Sylvain was getting pushed to his brink too, as evidenced by the increased frequency with which he was slamming his hands against the wall, dragging his nails down the wood, and cursing with greater volume. His cock twitched and throbbed, his balls pulsed, and Dorothea knew that as soon as he blew, she’d not be far behind.

“I-I-ngrid, I’m... _ fuck _ , I can’t…”

Ingrid, obviously, couldn’t respond, but instead of maintaining the fervent pace of her kisses of Sylvain's asshole, or even increasing it, she hummed, cooing into his buttocks, and slowed. The arms she had wrapped around his waist loosened slightly, seeming to hug Sylvain with a sweeter, more endearing hold than she had been grasping at him before. It was all the lovelier that the almost-loving embrace was enabling Ingrid to better make out with Sylvain’s asshole, as the pace of her making out with his rear entrance began to drag out. Ingrid’s smooches slipped back into the tender, delicate kisses that she’d started with, mixed in with the drool and saliva and sweat she’d built up on his bud, disjointing the affection with which she was kissing Sylvain’s rear against the wet, slurping smacks as she actually pressed her lips to his back hole.

Sylvain groaned hoarsely, and Dorothea let loose a quiet moan of her own as she, despite all her instincts urging her to pump her fingers up her ass to wrench out a quick, furious orgasm, slowed the pace of her anal plugging and tried to match Ingrid’s worshipful, devoted pattern of movements. She was so close to the edge that she wasn’t sure that even this more languid pace would drag it out much longer, however much she tried. 

The same seemed true for Sylvain. Whatever Ingrid’s intent in slowing down—perhaps to extend his pleasure, or to linger in the joy of rimming him with kisses, or tease him with a thwarted orgasm or just to fall back into the earlier pattern—it seemed pretty obvious that Sylvain was going to explode regardless. He strained his neck, tilting his chin up, punching the wall with enough strength for it to creak, dragging his other hand through his hair before smacking his palm flatly onto the wood.

“I can’t... _ fuck _ —!” 

Dorothea couldn’t see his back entrance with Ingrid’s face and his buttcheek in the way, but she knew what had to be happening there now. Sylvain’s asshole must have been winking, puckering, clenching and twitching like mad, tensing against Ingrid’s lips. His ballsack was seizing up, throbbing in time with Ingrid’s continuing kisses, and his cock shuddered and bobbed, the crown trembling until he finally erupted. 

The first spurt of spunk splattered strongly against the wooden wall, joined by the second and third blasts of his load, until all three were oozing down the grain. Sylvain panted, tongue hanging open as he breathed heavily, shuddering with each jet of cream as it shot out from his cockhead. His fourth squirt of seed joined the trio staining the wall with a bit less force, as did the fifth, all five cumshots dripping down the wall in a sticky, off-white, messy mishmash of streaks and droplets. Two more smaller pulses fired from the tip of his dick, striking the wall lower down, and his final scattering dripped and dribbled out from his cockhead, trickling down directly onto the box he was standing on.

As she watched, Dorothea clenched her teeth to stop herself from singing out her joy, frantically pumping two fingers into her ass in sync with the sounds of Ingrid kissing Sylvain’s ass and the interims of his ejaculation. At the apex, when his second shot lanced out from his cockhead, Dorothea balled her free hand into a fist, took a halted breath, and shoved her ring finger into her butt, swirling and curling her digits to drag and press against the inner rim of her asshole. The greater girth of three fingers spread her rear just a little wider, and Dorothea’s eyelids fluttered as the sensation of her bum being stretched let her fall into a familiar fantasy: Pretending that she was being buttfucked. A phantom sensation came upon her, of her asshole being wrapped around a cock, then tenderly, slowly, and deeply being made love to until her guts were crammed full of cum. Dorothea could almost  _ feel _ the make-believe ballsack tensing against her pussy lips, emptying its load into her rear, and the vision was so evocative of her most honest hungers that she knew picturing it would serve as the final trigger to her orgasm.

A twinging, xylophoning pleasure ratcheted through Dorothea’s crotch, twisting her stomach into a lovely knot of tension and undoing the pressure just as quickly. With three fingers planted firmly in her asshole, Dorothea came, pussy lips quivering, trying to grab and milk a dick that wasn’t there as she felt the warmth of her orgasm suffuse throughout her core, crotch, and chest. The dampening of her panties became a sharper wetness, her head got fuzzy, her eyes twinged and failed to focus, and her legs wobbled and threatened to unbalance her as she shuddered through her orgasm, born of voyeuristic half-guilt, half-pride, and her innate ability to get off with only her ass. 

Ingrid, meanwhile, finally slowed the pace of her kissing of Sylvain’s asshole even further, still wrapping her arms around his waist in a comfortable, warm hug, though the ruby-red blush of her cheeks made Dorothea think that the blonde was trying to reassure herself more than Sylvain. Sylvain hissed, coming down from his high, and Ingrid finally pulled away. Moving her arms away from him, Ingrid smooched his asshole one more time—drawing a low gasp from Sylvain—and leaned back. A long string of saliva connected her lips to Sylvain’s winking, trembling back hole, and Ingrid stayed there awkwardly for a moment, looking uncertain. She seemed to be watching the line of drool that bridged her mouth to Sylvain’s asshole, equal parts fascinated, aroused, and confused at what she had just proven herself capable of.

Ingrid held the hesitation for several awkward breaths. Sylvain was still panting, still unsteady, trying to get his bearings again, when Ingrid finally rose, breaking the trail of spit to his butt and putting her hands on his shoulders to help him lean back, away from the wall, legs trembling. His eyes met hers, and he started to speak.

“I... _ wow _ .” Sylvain wheezed, standing up a bit straighter, still leaning on Ingrid as he wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He looked awed...and slightly terrified. “Where did you learn to  _ do  _ that?”

“That’s none of your business.” Ingrid said, averting her eyes, blushing furiously. But Dorothea could see a whisper of a smile on Ingrid’s lips.

Sylvain chuckled a bit more confidently. Now that the fervor of the moment was dying down, he seemed to be slipping back to where he was before, but he seemed more relaxed. “All right, all right, keep your secrets.”

“Yes, I think I will.” Ingrid said, still not looking at Sylvain.

“Your call.” He shrugged. Dorothea could tell that he was more bothered than he gave off, but he knew better than to push it. “Hey, c’mere.”

Sylvain leaned towards Ingrid, preparing to kiss her. His right hand dipped forward and came to rest on Ingrid’s covered ass, grasping and squeezing her firm, muscular backside through her uniform. He nodded, groping Ingrid’s buttcheeks with a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, feeling up her rear and pushing his hands to grab as much of her strong, wide backside as he could. Ingrid moaned quietly, pushing her butt back into his fondling, her lips held open for a half-second, and for an instant it looked like she was about to meet Sylvain’s kiss.

And then Ingrid retreated. She turned her face away a second time, so his lips met her cheek, not her mouth. As Sylvain’s mouth made contact with her cheek, she smiled shyly, and a warmer, softer blush blossomed across her cheeks. Sylvain accepted the compromise, but his brow was furrowed, and genuine hurt flickered across his face, in his eyes and expression. Then it passed, and he was shrugging in pretended acquiescence. “Fair enough. So, what now?”

“What now?” Ingrid asked, appearing genuinely confused. They were standing slightly side-by-side now, shoulders pressing together, half-facing each other, half looking towards the wall he’d just emptied his balls onto. Ingrid bit the inside of her cheek, rubbing her thighs together as Sylvain kept fondling her butt, fingers of his right hand spread wide to grope as much of her bum as he could. He kept up the motion casually, as if it didn’t need to interrupt their conversation, but there was still heft, intent, and interest behind his grasping, stroking, and kneading.

Dorothea grinned. Ingrid didn’t just have a secret talent and passion for rimming. By the way she was squirming, another deeper interest was nestled snugly within Ingrid, a kernel that had yet to blossom. But there were signs.

“Clean this up?” Ingrid ventured, looking at the cumstains he’d left on the wood.

“No. I mean, yes, we should do that, but I’m talking about us. After that.” Sylvain waved his right hand, as if trying to capture all of the ephemeral, ineffable sentiments of what had just happened with a gesture.

“I…”Ingrid’s left hand bumped against Sylvain’s side, her index finger nudging his flaccid cock, and his breathing hitched.

“Hey, watch it, that’s very—”

Before he could finish, Ingrid reached forward and wrapped her left hand gently around Sylvain’s dick, thumb nudging his ballsack. He hissed, and Ingrid squealed softly as he dug his hands more firmly into the flesh of her asscheeks, trying to squeeze her butt through her uniform. She gave his shaft a slow, long pump with her left hand, awkward and stilted, and Sylvain whistled under his breath.

“If you...hrk!” Sylvain grunted, then started again. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna…”

“Do you...want to?” Ingrid asked under her breath, trying to sound sultry. It didn’t work, not when she was still unable to address him in this context without pausing and hesitating. Sylvain’s hand groping and fondling her ass probably wasn’t helping her focus.

“”Fuck, yes.” Sylvain took a deep breath. “Ingrid, I want to fu—”

“I want to...I want to do that again.” Ingrid interrupted, embarrassed at her own words. Dorothea widened her eyes. She wasn’t really...oh, that naughty, naughty girl.

“...What? Already?” Sylvain grunted as Ingrid pumped his dick more powerfully. He was more than half-erect now, and a soft  _ shlicking _ sound was discernable whenever Ingrid’s palm grazed the wet tip of his cock. He dragged his hand up from her butt to trace the wide curve of her waist, and then back down to squeeze an asscheek yet again. A happy little sigh slipped out from Ingrid’s lips, and she nodded with flustered excitement.

“Yeah. We should be able to...to fit in one more before the grooms get back from lunch.” Ingrid said, giving his dick one last stroke before releasing him. Sylvain was hard again, shaft bobbing and balls swaying eagerly.

“Are you sure we have enough time?”

“Hey, you were okay with doing something else, weren’t you? But now, suddenly, we don’t have enough time for  _ this _ ?” Ingrid tried to sound reprimanding, but when Sylvain pressed his palm against her covered buttcheek, she moaned, and it sort of killed the tone. He still sounded chastened, though.

“I’m just worried we’re pushing it. Also, I’m kind of scared of what you’ll do to me.” 

“Oh, so  _ now _ you’re worried?” Ingrid scoffed, and Dorothea sensed genuine amusement in Ingrid’s voice at the contradiction. “Then you’d better hurry up and lie back on the hay, because at this point I’m going to do this even if it risks getting caught. The longer you worry, the tighter our window gets. And don’t tell me you don’t want this.”

Sylvain hesitated, then nodded and flicked his eyes nervously towards the door. Dorothea ducked out of the way just in time. She couldn’t see what happened next, but she heard the rustle of hay, a grunt, as Sylvain’s legs were presumably hoisted onto Ingrid’s shoulders, and then the wet, slurping  _ smack _ of the blonde’s lips on the redhead’s upturned asshole.

Better to leave, at this point. She’d seen what she needed, and if they were going to get caught, she wasn’t going to be collateral. So Dorothea pulled her skirt and panties back into place, crawled out of sight, and then stood and strode away, the muffled sounds of Ingrid rimming Sylvain fading into the distance. Hopefully they’d be done before anyone else came upon them.

* * *

“Sooooo, Ingrid, how are you doing~?” Dorothea asked in a singsong tone as she stepped up to Ingrid. The other woman was panting, tired and sweaty, wiping perspiration from her forehead as she finally relented in her furious assault upon the training dummy. “I think you can stop. That poor fellow’s quite dead by now.”

“You’re probably right.” Ingrid chuckled softly, dropping the wooden training lance. “Still, it feels good to work out like that.”

“I’m sure it does, though I wouldn’t know.” 

“Well, maybe you should.”

“None of that, now.” Dorothea chided. “Besides, I asked you a question.”

“I’m...I’m doing fine, Dorothea. Why do you ask?” Ingrid quirked her eyebrow, then furrowed it, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is there something you want? I already told you—” 

“Not about that! Well, not really.” Dorothea giggled, then stepped closer to Ingrid. “Though I’m surprised you’re so nonchalant after what we did…”

“Shhh!” Ingrid’s eyes widened in a panic, and she looked around. Thankfully, the training grounds were empty. “I thought…”

“No, nobody else knows, don’t worry. But Ingrid...is there something you want to tell me?” Dorothea smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Stop playing games. I’m not in the mood to be toyed with.” Ingrid frowned.

“I just think that maaaaaaybe you were a  _ little  _ bit less careful than you should have been.” Dorothea crooned, stroking her chin in mock pensiveness.

Ingrid’s frown immediately froze, and she gulped nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Nothing’s coming to mind?” Dorothea tilted her head to the side, as if curious. If she was going to tease Ingrid, she could afford to be a little mean, after what she’d born witness to.

“N-no, not a one. W-why?” Ingrid refused to look Dorothea in the eye. She wasn’t a good liar.

“Nothing to do with, oh, the eastern side of the monastery, around noon today?” Dorothea asked. “That doesn’t ring a bell?”

Ingrid paused again, and briefly met Dorothea’s eyes. She found no concession there. Dorothea was going to make Ingrid say it before she’d let up.

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Dorothea grinned cheekily. She was having far too much fun.

Ingrid licked her lips nervously and averted her gaze again. She looked ashamed and nervous, and held her silence for a long moment. 

“Didn’t what, Ingrid?” Dorothea prompted again.

“...You didn’t...you didn’t see me and...Sylvain…?” Ingrid murmured in a stuttered tone, then winced, hoping she wouldn’t have to continue. But Dorothea wasn’t done pushing her.

“You and Sylvain doing...what?”

“...You didn’t see me…” Another halt. Ingrid steadied herself, and spoke quietly, carefully, with subdued horror. “...You didn’t see me...kissing his butt, did you?”

“Yup! I did! Sorry, Ingrid~!” Dorothea smiled, bopping Ingrid on the nose. “You really  _ should _ be more cautious. What if it hadn’t been  _ me _ who saw it?”

“And...and you saw it all? With Sylvain?” Ingrid spoke in a tiny, terrified voice. 

“That I did! And you performed  _ marvelously~ _ . You should have just told me that you wanted to practice before kissing a boy’s butt. I would have understood!” Dorothea grinned widely. “Still, I’m very, very proud of how well you did!”

Ingrid closed her eyes and sighed, deeply, such that her shoulders seemed to deflate. Her face burned with shame. “Goddess, I’d very much like to die now, please, thank you very much.”

“No, no, let’s not go there now.” Dorothea said, suddenly serious. “I’m not joking. I’m proud of you. And if you had just told me the truth, I wouldn’t have toyed with you the way I did. I’m sorry about that, but I was operating on incomplete information.”

Ingrid pursed her lips, thinking, and then sighed again, less deeply, more in relief. “No, you’re right. But I wasn’t lying to you, Dorothea. I didn’t have Sylvain in mind when I went to you. I was just...curious. And with him, I got frustrated, and excited. Maybe he’s not the one. I...don’t know how I feel.”

“Oh, Ingrid, you are just  _ adorable _ and I  _ love _ it.” Dorothea crooned. “But yes, I understand. No hard feelings. Sometimes you just want to do it in the spur of the moment.”

Ingrid smiled awkwardly, still not looking at Dorothea’s eyes. “I...yes. And no hard feelings. And thank you.”

“My pleasure. Now, you pretty much rocked his world, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more available for you to learn, if you so desire. It’s your call, though.” Dorothea winked, and Ingrid blushed again. 

“I…” Ingrid bit her lower lip. “I...I suppose I’m not  _ opposed _ . I’m free tonight. But the same rules apply. This isn’t about you, or girls. It’s about...learning.”

“It’s a date, then.” Dorothea beamed. “Oh, when you and I are done, you’re going to prefer kissing Sylvain’s asshole to his lips or even his face, and he will too. But maybe the two of you are already there, hm~?”

Ingrid looked down, fiddling with her hands, blushing profusely. Dorothea couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe that was a little bit mean, but Ingrid could afford to lighten up around this a little. Dorothea would be happy to help.


End file.
